TRAVAIL OF A TRAITOR
By Katherine Padilla
Book 3 of
HEIRS OF NOVAUN
Published
by Novaun Novels at
Copyright ©
2006
Katherine
Padilla.
This
e-book is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License. To view a copy
of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5.
This document may be reproduced for personal non-commercial use as long as the
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on every copy.
Travail of a Traitor is a
work of fiction. The characters and plots are products of the author's
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely
coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Steve.
CONTENTS
Chapter 2: A DISILLUSIONED BROTHER
Chapter 6:
THE TRAITOR AND THE TERRORIST
Chapter 8: AN
IRRESISTIBLE INVITATION
Chapter 11:
THE JOVEM DOSHYR HONORARY CLUB OF TRAITORS
Chapter 12:
THE COLONEL'S GAME
Chapter 13:
THE IRREPARABLE FLAW
Chapter 17: A
MAN OF DISCIPLINE AND DETERMINATION
Chapter 18: A
FRESH ARRANGEMENT
Chapter 21: A
PECULIAR RAPPORT
Chapter 22: AN
UNCOMFORTABLE ENCOUNTER
Chapter 23:
THE DREADED MEETING
On the Earth base ship Sovereign of the Stars, in a luxurious stateroom on
"A" Deck, Sanel King and Internal Investigation agent Daniel Stewart
gazed in satisfaction at a man who had been physically altered to look exactly
like agent Stewart, except that his eyes were not brown, but blue.
King hurriedly dismissed the Stewart-twin
and telepathically commanded his Eslavu servant to pour him a glass of mineral
water.
Stewart received his own glass of mineral
water, his satisfaction so extreme it was almost regret. "I almost wish I
were the one going to Novaun. I want the pleasure of torturing that son of
Abomination myself."
King chuckled. "Your pleasure will be
much greater if you live to see the destruction of our young traitor and
Novaun's humiliation. Your twin goes to Novaun to die."
Stewart's dark eyes searched King's face
calculatingly. "And your spy?"
King's eyes shone with gloating
ruthlessness. "My spy is in position and is progressing as planned,
possessing a mind of even greater potential than I had anticipated. My plan is
coming to fruition so easily I'm embarrassed for the great Novaunian
Fleet."
Stewart laughed.
King sighed in ecstasy. "My revenge
will be glorious."
Ton Luciani had just completed a surgery
with Dr. Lren Tervel and was on his way to the shower when he received a
telepathic summons from Dr. Morlel Hovaus, his mentor. Since Ton was not
scheduled for a review, the summons worried him. Had he done something to
provoke a reprimand?
Ton quickly showered, changed, and hurried
to Dr. Hovaus's office at the clinic. He entered looking as dignified as he
could. Ton was relieved that a librarian wasn't present. At least this wasn't
going to be an official meeting.
Dr. Hovaus greeted Ton with fingertips
touching and invited him to sit down. I'll come straight to the point, Ton. Since you've been here, you've been
volunteering all of your free time at the hospital, and it's starting to show.
You're slow and rundown.
Ton gazed at his mentor, perplexed. I do what is required, then only what I wish to
do. All of my reviews have shown that my work is exceptional.
Your knowledge and execution of technique
is exceptional, yes, but you are slow, and you aren't slow because you're being
careful, which is what I expect from a new physician. It's a hesitating, unsure
kind of slowness that comes from a cloudy mind. We need doctors who are
dedicated, yes, but we don't want medical martyrs.
Ton thought in exasperation
that if Colonel Quautar would let him have his coffee on the days he worked he
would be as fast and as sure of himself as any of the more experienced
surgeons!
Hovaus leaned forward in his chair. I'm worried about you, Ton. You need something in
your life other than work. You will not only be happier, your work will become
much more fulfilling and effective. I don't want to throw your life into a
complete state of shock, but I do want you to relax a little. From today on, you
will work only for me. I've already contacted the necessary hospital
staff members.
Ton assimilated Dr. Hovaus's thoughts in a
daze. What would he do with all those extra hours a week? He would go insane
with boredom.
Learning of the death of Ausha's brother a
week and a half before had disheartened him enough. His fight with Miaundea had
shattered him, and finding the taffuao remains of a woman spy in his room at
the Doshyr estate had completely terrified and unnerved him. This final blow of
having his working hours restricted devastated him. He scratched at his
mustache, too perplexed to reply.
Dr. Hovaus gazed at Ton in concern. I want you to relax, Ton. Not lie down and die. He squeezed Ton's arm. What is really bothering you?
Ton shook his head quickly as if to communicate,
"Nothing."
Hovaus withdrew his hand. You want to tell me that your personal concerns
are none of my business. Everything you do is my business if it in any way
threatens the quality of your work.
Ton leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees,
covering his face with his hands. Perhaps he couldn't tell Dr. Hovaus about his
fear of Sanel King and the woman spy he knew had been in his room, but he could
tell him something about the fight he had had with Miaundea. I had a fight with a girl I like very much.
She . . . well . . . I was full of rage, and if
she hadn't run away from me I . . . I would have beaten her.
Ton couldn't bring himself to communicate
any more. He certainly couldn't reveal the nature of the argument. He couldn't
take the chance that Dr. Hovaus or anyone else would tell Colonel Quautar, thus
endangering his privilege to live on Novaun. He had no doubt that leaving
Novaun at this point would mean instant death. He sat up and leaned back,
feeling exhausted.
You
need to communicate with Counselor Brunel.
Ton stiffened. That
is completely out of the question.
Hovaus appeared puzzled. Counselor Brunel is perfectly qualified to help
you deal with personal problems as well as with the stresses that come with
practicing medicine. Receiving help from a psychologist isn't anything to be
ashamed of. If a large number of people didn't need emotional help at times,
there wouldn't be counselors available to give it.
Ton felt a flicker of spiteful satisfaction. As much as they
demanded perfection, Novaunians were as human as everyone else and just as
flawed. He shook his head. I'm not
ashamed. I just . . . can't.
I think I understand. The young lady you
have the problem with is the daughter of your sponsor, Colonel Quautar, and
you're afraid that anything you communicate about her would somehow get back to
him.
Ton could not muster a reply.
Did
it ever occur to you that he may already know everything?
Ton regarded Hovaus suspiciously.
She
may have already told him about your argument.
That is extremely unlikely.
Hovaus pondered Ton's problem for nearly a
minute. Finally he communicated with a shake of his head, You have a problem, Ton, and you need to communicate
with someone. You can't change a lifetime of attitudes and inappropriate ways
of dealing with frustration with a simple snap of your fingers. I can promise
you that Counselor Brunel or any of the other Academy psychologists I can refer
you to for counseling will not betray your confidence to anyone, even Colonel
Quautar.
Ton shook his head again. I will not discuss anything with a counselor!
Hovaus sighed. If
you won't communicate with a counselor, I feel I should make a couple of suggestions.
First, you need to learn to channel your anger. When you feel you're losing
control, leave the situation. Then take a walk, write in a journal, scream into
a pillow, participate in strenuous exercise, or whatever you find works for
you. My other suggestion is to confide in a friend, someone you trust, someone
who can help you understand and express what angers and distresses you.
Ton drummed his fingers on his thighs, feeling helpless. I've never had a friend like that.
Hovaus smiled perceptively. Since you will only be working for me, you'll have quite a bit more time
for confidences, and you do have at least one very good friend, the colonel's
daughter herself.
"No! Absolutely not!"
Hovaus stood up. She will communicate with you, I assure you. Hovaus stopped for a moment. And whether you realize it or not, you have good
friends among your young colleagues.
Ton thought immediately of Ausha, but he wasn't sure what
she would think of him now that his people had killed her brother. Do you think that when Ausha gets back she'll
blame me?
Do you blame yourself?
Yes
and no. I could never have ordered that invasion if I had been in a position to
do so, but still, they are my people, and I was part of Star Force for five
years. They trained me for combat and self-defense just as they did the rest of
them. I wore an immobilizer when I was sent into a battle zone to treat the
wounded. My ship might have been the one that attacked Jaunel's. How am I
supposed to feel?
I don't know. You're in a unique and
baffling position.
The
most shameful thing about it is that it didn't bother me so much at first. I
knew that what Earth had done was wrong, but still, it was just an intellectual
game, a political puzzle. But then Ausha's brother died, and everything
changed.
Dr. Hovaus put his arm around Ton's shoulders and squeezed
slightly. What you're feeling is the
pain of someone you care about, empathy. Just be honest with Ausha about the
way you feel, and she won't blame you.
It
still won't change what happened. Ton turned and walked out of the office.
Ton left Dr. Hovaus, feeling depressed. His
working relationship with Ausha would take care of itself when she returned
from Dinevlea, but he didn't know what to do about Miaundea. He had struggled
over the last week not to think about her, with no success. He hadn't realized
how much a part of his life she had become. He missed her teasing smile, the
way her eyes lit up as she analyzed a problem, the security of having her slide
her tiny hand under his elbow and pressing it affectionately against his arm.
She had tried communicating with him
several times over the past seven days, and he had refused, repelled by the
possibility that she would do as she usually did whenever he did something to
disturb her, treat him as if nothing had happened and continue on in her little
charade.
He wanted her to be his lover and
companion, and one way or another, he was going to force a decision from her.
She wanted to communicate with him? Fine. She could do it on his terms. She
could come to him at his apartment.
Ton went to the clinic cafeteria and had a
quick lunch with Danal, then headed back to his office to study his new cases
and complete some reports. Normally he and Dr. Hovaus's other apprentices
didn't see patients on Sixth Day since they were usually in surgery or
performing an Awareness manipulation, so as far as he knew, he didn't have any
patients scheduled for that afternoon. He was surprised to find Ausha there, sitting
in the glow of a magnified patient Awareness image being generated by their
telepathic transmission recorder, systematically formulating various surgery
strategies for one of their more difficult new cases.
Ton stopped in just inside the door. The
change in Ausha was astounding. She looked sickly, her skin ashen instead of
its normal creamy translucence. Her gaunt face, with its dark shadows of
exhaustion, made her exotic brown eyes seem larger than normal, which only
emphasized their sorrow. Gone was her cheerful exuberance and breathless,
frenetic pace, replaced by unhurried graveness. Even her plants drooped around
her in desolation, proud Hokinnon most of all.
Ton felt queasy. What was he supposed to
do? What was he supposed to communicate? It didn't seem right to act as if
nothing had happened, and yet seeing her this way made him long to redirect her
thoughts to happier subjects and help her forget.
Sensing Ton's presence by the door, Ausha
lifted her head and looked at him. The Awareness image disappeared. She smiled,
just barely, in an attempt to be cheerful. Hello, Ton. I told you that one of these days I would surprise you and
get here first.
Ton walked cautiously to the middle of the
office and the telepathic transmission recorder. Hi, Ausha.
He groped for something to communicate. When did you get back?
This morning.
Andrel came in yesterday and asked about
you.
Ausha grimaced. I
don't want to see him.
He seems very concerned.
She sighed. I
know. She continued,
somewhat vexed: I also know just
what he'll communicate in his "concern." He lives completely in his
idealistic world of knowledge and principle, rights and wrongs. He can't begin
to understand real people and real pain. He'll try to comfort me, and instead
he'll moralize and tell me that Jaunel has made a natural step in his
progression, that he's at peace, and that there will come a time when we'll all
be together again.
Ausha stared into space, her expression wry. Well, I already know all of that, and it doesn't
change what I feel. It doesn't build a bridge over that awful chasm between
this world and the next. And it doesn't make me miss him any less.
Ausha's communication about death and "that awful chasm
between this world and the next" paralyzed Ton. He could think of nothing
at that moment but his treason, Sanel King, and the female spy that had been in
his room in Launarda.
Feeling Ton's spasm of fear in their
telepathic exchange, Ausha looked up at him and frowned, her expression one of
alarm and concern. She stood up and pulled a chair over to the transmission
recorder next to hers and gently sat Ton down in it. She reseated herself and
stroked his arm. What is it, Ton?
What is it that terrifies you so?
Ton gazed at her, uncomprehending. How did
she know? How could she possibly know?
Ausha almost smiled, communicating as if in
answer to his thoughts, I felt it.
Ton felt like a fool. Of course she had felt it. The problem
with telepathy was that these Novaunians could read emotions too well,
particularly the more empathic ones like Ausha and Dr. Hovaus. Virtually the
only way to keep feelings private was not to communicate at all. With Ausha,
though, that wasn't an option. Knowing how futile his effort would be, he had
never fought it with her, nor did he withdraw abruptly now, but her perception
made him uncomfortable all the same.
Ausha gazed at him solemnly, again feeling
his emotions and understanding their nature. We're friends, Ton. You have no reason to be embarrassed or uneasy with
me about anything. I have no intention to ever judge you or moralize.
For the moment, Ton's curiosity was stronger than his fear
of King. Why not?
Because
I hate it when people do it to me, and it doesn't do one bit of good. Maybe
that's why I've always felt so at ease with you. You're opinionated, maybe even
more opinionated than I, but you never moralize.
I can't do anything to offend you!
I
don't think we would work very well together if either one of us let ourselves
get offended and irritated by our personal differences and idiosyncrasies.
But I can't offend anyone on this planet.
Even the ones who get offended don't treat me differently afterward. I don't
understand it, and I don't like it.
Why
do you wish you could offend people?
So that they'll despise me. It makes it a
whole lot easier to despise them. He continued weakly, It makes you a lot less vulnerable.
Ausha gazed at him compassionately. You've lost people close to you, haven't you?
She was so sincere, and their
communication had always been so natural and comfortable. Ton couldn't not
answer her. I have, but not to
death. Sometimes I think death would be the easy way. At
least the person who dies generally doesn't have control. It can't be anything
like the agony of one day realizing that after years and years of fighting to
gain someone's approval and support that you're never going to get it, no
matter what you do. Or losing an intimate friend because you remind him of
someone who hurt him.
Ton nodded. I really think death
would be the easy way.
At
least I know Jaunel wouldn't have had it this way, that he misses us as much as
we miss him. Sometimes that makes me feel better; sometimes it makes me feel
worse. I can't bear the thought of him there and all of us here, and how lonely
he must feel.
Ausha's lips trembled. He was so
young, Ton, so young, and he had his whole life ahead of him. All he ever
wanted to do was join the Fleet and rescue wounded soldiers, but there was no
one there to rescue him. He left a wife and a new little baby. It just doesn't
seem fair, you know?
Ton nodded slowly, again gripped with fear. I know.
I guess that's what scares me most about
dying, that I'll miss my family too much and that I'll leave something
unfinished, like Jaunel did.
Ton couldn't seem to restrain the
outpouring of his own worries and emotions. Sometimes I think it would be easier to die, to just shut everything off,
all the pain, all the loneliness, all the fear. Then I get terrified that maybe
our spirits do continue to live after we die, that all of those feelings, those
needs, and those cravings just keep going on and on and on, forever and ever,
nagging at you constantly but never consuming you and putting you out of your
misery. I can't imagine a more exquisite torment.
Ausha replied only with feelings. He sensed that she had
internalized his fears and understood, and that in itself made him feel a
little less afraid, at least for the moment. Perhaps the most unbelievable
emotion he could feel in her was that she acknowledged his unequivocal right to
want to be happy and at peace in his life, that she anguished with him at
having never been able to find it, and that she wanted it for him as sincerely
as he wanted it for himself.
They sat there still for many minutes, when
suddenly Ton blurted in earnestness and anxiety, I'm sorry about Jaunel, Ausha. I'm more sorry than you can know, but when
I came in here a little while ago and saw you looking so miserable, I didn't
know what to communicate. I didn't know what to do, and I still don't. The
Senlana invasion never made me so ashamed of my own people as that day a week
and a half ago when Dr. Hovaus told you about Jaunel. It doesn't surprise me
that Earth invaded Senlana, but that doesn't make it any less wrong. And no, it
isn't fair.
For not knowing what to communicate, you seem to
be communicating all the right things. She gazed at him, still sad, but with that incredible
concentration that had always so impressed him. Why Ton? Why would they have done it?
It was a question she had longed to ask him
since the moment she had learned of the invasion. Ton was disturbed that she
hadn't felt comfortable asking it until now, but he was relieved that his race
didn't matter to her, only his personal feelings about the invasion, and that
she had used the pronoun "they" instead of "you."
It
could have been for a lot of different reasons. They're proud, they want
arelada, and they need a war. War is something they understand. It's holy to
them. It's their way of life, and unless you live among them, there's no way
you can really understand it.
Ton opened his mind to her and let her see the attitudes of
his Earthon peers in Star Force, from the Prince Jahnzel,
to Latanza III, to the Sovereign of
the Stars. He
showed her the religious services, their fencing tournaments, their rallies,
their conversations, their basic military training. He showed her Earth's
culture in general, their literature, their art, their knowledge and ambitions,
their Zarrist history, their allegiance to their Divine Emperor.
Ausha assimilated it all, fascinated and
appalled. She and the other student physicians had, at different times, asked
Ton about his academic and medical training on Earth and his experiences as a
neurosurgeon in Star Force, but they had never asked him about Earth's culture.
She began to understand why Earth would do something so brutal and immoral as
invade a tiny neighboring republic, that to many Earthons the invasion hadn't
been immoral at all. She began to understand, but that understanding brought
new concern about Earth as a significant threat to the security of Novaun and
the other planets in the Union, especially those on the borders such as
Dinevlea.
I
always told you that you're of a corrupt race, Ausha teased.
And being a traitor, I'm the most corrupt
of all.
How
did you escape it, Ton?
I don't know. I guess it was the natural
Awareness ability I had to see the Divine Emperor attempting to take control of
a cell in my brain on my Day of Awakening. I guess after that my instinct just
took over and I fought it with all my strength. But I never escaped it. I was
just never a part of it. I don't suppose anyone was surprised when I sold out
to an enemy agent.
A traitor at heart long before you
committed treason, hmmm?
Ton smiled. I
guess so.
Ausha smiled at him affectionately. You know, for a corrupt Earthon traitor, you're
an excellent physician.
Dr. Hovaus doesn't think so. He thinks I'm
slow and rundown.
Ton told Ausha about his interview with their mentor and the new restriction in
his working hours.
I
don't understand it, Ausha. At least half of the emergency physicians on the
day shift are volunteers. Then there are the staffs of volunteer nurses and
technicians both here and at the hospital. So why does Dr. Hovaus now tell me
that I can't volunteer my time anymore? It doesn't make sense.
You do spend a great deal of time at the
hospital, Ton.
Only time I want to spend.
Isn't there anything else you would like to
do?
Have sex, but no one will let me do that
either!
Ausha patted his arm. That settles it. You have no excuse now not to
come with Bryaun and Danal and me to our Coalition functions.
I want to work!
I'll pick you up and carry you if I have
to! We displaced persons have to stick together, you know?
Ton rolled his eyes in good-natured resignation. I know.
Ausha telepathically turned on the telepathic transmission
recorder again, and she and Ton brainstormed on several new cases and compiled
reports on more than ten of their old ones.
They finished their reports at the
eighteenth hour and spent the rest of the evening eating, relaxing, and
debating with their colleagues at the Palm Pavilion. Ton went home at the
twenty-first hour that night, hoping by some remote chance that Miaundea would
be waiting there for him. She wasn't, and he although he wasn't surprised, he
was disappointed. He entered the apartment cautiously, sniffing for Froquenza
and fresh osalaem smoke. He looked behind and under the few pieces of furniture
and checked the balcony before allowing himself the luxury of relaxing.
Deciding to forego his usual hour session
with InterMind News and Library, he lit a taffuao, poured himself some cognac,
and sank into the large reclining chair in his living room, obsessed by a
single question--why wasn't he dead?
A spy who had been capable of entering his
room in Launarda undetected had certainly been capable of killing him then and
was capable of killing him now. Had Colonel Quautar been conducting
surveillance on him since his arrival? Even now he wondered. Maybe he had lied
too well. Maybe Colonel Quautar had believed everything he had told him in that
first interview, felt he was no threat and in no danger, and was thus forgoing
any attempt at surveillance. The only way Ton would know for certain would be
to ask the colonel himself.
Ton shuddered. Colonel Quautar had no
reason to tell him the truth, particularly if he suspected him of being a spy.
He would certainly suspect him of being a spy if he told him that he had
double-crossed Sanel King. Ton could hear the conversation now:
"Colonel Quautar, you have to help me!
Sanel King wants me dead and has sent a woman agent to kill me. She was in my
room the night of the wedding. I didn't see her, but I know she was there. I
smelled that awful Erdean perfume Froquenza, and I found a taffuao stub in the
bathroom sink."
The colonel would look at him skeptically.
"What kind of game are you playing with me, Ton? Sanel King has no reason
to want to kill you."
"Oh yes he does! My sister Jacquae
wasn't the plant on the Sovereign as Teren thinks. I was the
plant. Sanel King's D.I.I. agent Daniel Stewart hired me to manipulate Teren
and Deia and Paul into each other's favor, to be the third helper in the
escape, and to be the channel through which Stewart and his agents would obtain
the spirit dimension formula and kill Teren. They were going to pay me three
hundred and fifty thousand Earth dollars and provide me a prestigious research
position on Erdean.
"I knew immediately upon learning
about this assignment that if I accepted it, I would be in a very powerful
position of trust. I could just as easily sell out to this boy Novaunian agent
as kill him, and there wouldn't have been a thing the Earthons could have done
about it. Novaun is a very rich, powerful, and isolated planet, and I believed
I could come here and be protected from the D.I.I.
"The thought of outwitting a Novaunian
spy was tantalizing enough, but the temptation to also outwit the D.I.I. and
Intelligence Director Sanel King was more than I could stand, and so was my
desire to experience the spirit dimension formula in flight. I accepted the
assignment, intending to sell out to the Novaunian agent. I came to Novaun with
Teren without a moment's hesitation or regret and, in the process, ruined Sanel
King and all of his plans. That is why he wants me dead."
Colonel Quautar, angrily: "Do you
expect me to believe you came to Novaun because of a game? Do you really expect
me to believe that anyone could be that insane and suicidal? All for a game?"
"You have to believe me! They are
trying to kill me!"
"The woman in your room is working
with you. You know that Internal discovered the rendezvous and that she was
captured, and now you're making a desperate attempt to cover yourself. You lied
to Teren, you lied to me in our first interview about your reasons for coming
to Novaun, and now you're lying to me again. And far worse than anything else,
you've been trying to seduce my daughter! You are done playing games on this
planet, Dr. Luciani!"
No. It was absolutely out of the question.
He could not go to Colonel Quautar. King would have him when he wanted him. The
only questions were when and, more terrifying, how. He was no longer the player
in what had been an elaborate psychological game--he was the prize.
Ton downed the remaining cognac in one
gulp, cursing Earth's government. Why in the universe didn't they give that son
of Abomination King to the Novaunians? He was no good to them now, and it would
have saved them an enormous amount of trouble. It would have been a gesture
that would have persuaded the other planetary powers of the galaxy to regard
Earth with a certain amount of favor instead of putting an embargo on the sale
of arelada and boycotting its products. Earth certainly wanted the flow of
arelada to remain unimpeded and the price to remain stable. It needed to sell
its products abroad to avoid economic chaos, and it needed favor with the
planetary powers of the galaxy, especially now that Teren's report on its plans
to conquer several arelada-rich planets had been released on the galactic level
and Earth had subsequently been forced to withdraw all of its fleets from the
Alliance space territory.
Instead, Earth had refused to give King to
the Novaunians and had provoked the boycott, causing the price of arelada to
soar. Then when Earth had tried to secure its own continuous supply of arelada
by invading the Senlana Republic, it had lost an astounding number of ships and
warriors in what would be remembered in history as one of the most devastating
military failures of all time.
Perhaps Earth was proud, but it was not
that proud. Perhaps Divine Emperor Arulezz Zarr was a despot, but he was not a
fool. What kind of power could King possibly hold over the entire Earth
government?
Ton took one more draw on his taffuao,
snuffed it out on the small plate he used as an ash tray, then stood up and
went to bed. He had nightmares of dying. The nightmare was always the same.
Miaundea came to him wearing the pale yellow dress she had worn that dreadful
night a week before. They sat cuddled on the couch talking, kissing, and
drinking champagne. Then he felt a shot in his back and smelled the peculiar
odor of Froquenza mixed with osalaem and burnt flesh.
Sometimes the woman with the immobilizer
was Miaundea, her yellow-green eyes shining malevolently. More often, the woman
with the immobilizer was a shadowy figure in the background, withdrawing as he
groaned, and Miaundea would clutch his head to her neck as he died.
Ton woke up with a start, drenched with
sweat, his head throbbing. He reached for Miaundea and instead found a cold
sheet. He forlornly stroked the place in the bed where Miaundea should have
been, feeling no neurodart in his back, only the abyss in his heart.
Snow crunched under Paul's feet as he ran
with Adaum Vundaun. The sun had not yet risen, but there was enough light for
Paul to see that his friend was in turmoil. Adaum had not communicated a
thought to Paul that morning, but Paul didn't have to be a genius to guess that
Adaum was distressed about the information they all had received the day before
concerning his brother Brys and his crimes.
The family had been told early in the day.
Eauva had stood before the Criminal Council of Judges in Shalaun early that
afternoon and confessed her involvement with Brys in aiding Jovem Doshyr's
escape from Novaun, supplying him with sensitive government information, and
concealing the fact that he was still alive and had kidnapped Paul and Deia and
their mother.
After an hour of deliberation, the Council
had declared Eauva guilty of treason and an accessory to murder and kidnapping.
She had been stripped of her position as proxy-counselor to her father,
indefinitely barred from practicing as a judge on any Novaunian planet, and
sentenced to remain in prison until Sanel King was apprehended or proved dead.
Paul's grandfather and Eauva had then made
a statement on InterMind, during which Eauva, heartbroken, had apologized for
her crimes. His grandparents had temporary custody of Brys and Eauva's four
children, which, in Paul's opinion, was the most depressing thing of all. He
could hardly bear to look at their sad, bewildered faces.
Paul and Adaum completed their
fifteen-kilometer run and halted for a moment on the back doorstep to Adaum's
little home. Adaum spun around and charged Paul with his thoughts, his angry
pine green eyes the only part of his face not covered by his hat and thick wool
scarf, You're so calm and unaffected
you disgust me!
I'm not unaffected.
I just don't know either Brys or Eauva well enough to be angry with them.
Your father's dead. Your mother's dead. You
spent most of the first eighteen years of your life on Earth, controlled by a
man who hated you, when you should have been here, and all because my brother and
Eauva were too cowardly and criminal to tell anyone you were still alive.
You're not angry? How can you not be angry?
Paul shrugged. I'm
only angry at the person who brought all of this about in the first place, and
I'm not even so angry at him lately. It just doesn't matter anymore. As for
Brys and Aunt Eauva, all I can bring myself to feel for them is pity.
Adaum relaxed a bit, sorrow gradually replacing the anger.
He stared at the icy doorstep, unable for the moment to open the door and go
into the house.
Whatever
Brys may be, I don't believe he's a black marketeer or a murderer. I believe as
Aunt Eauva, that he was framed by my uncle, at least for those two crimes.
I want to believe that too, I really do,
but even if he didn't kill those people, what he did here was bad enough. You didn't know Brys. He was stalwart. A leader. And exceptional in
everything he did. He was a great man. Adaum sighed deeply, a sigh of betrayal. Or at least I always thought he was.
Paul communicated nothing. He didn't blame
Adaum for feeling angry and betrayed. Paul wanted to tell him that the grief
would eventually go away, but Paul didn't believe it ever would.
Adaum startled him with a question,
seemingly off the subject: Do you
still want to go back to Earth?
Paul didn't know how to reply. Adaum wasn't
supposed to know that he had ever sincerely wanted to go back to Earth. No one
was supposed to know except Deia.
Adaum put his hand on Paul's shoulder. There are some things a person just knows. I wish Novaun could be everything you want it to be.
Earth was never everything I wanted it to
be either. I could never go back--I don't fit. I learned
that on the Sovereign. I do wish I could bring some of it to Novaun
though, because I don't fit here either.
Adaum regarded Paul knowingly. You want a fencing friend.
I want a friend who can beat me. A real person. What an impossible dream. Everyone here thinks a sport that you fight
with swords is barbaric. They all think I'm odd, all of the young people. They
try not to show it, but they do. They don't know what to communicate to me, and
I don't know what to communicate to them.
You do all right with me.
That's different. You're paid to be my
friend. His
statement was almost true. Adaum was one of his grandfather's district
managers, and for over a month, Paul had been learning the practical side of
the business by working several hours a day as Adaum's assistant.
Adaum laughed, a wonderful, carefree sound
in this time of his grief.
I
also wish I could go to Tryamazz and bring back some women.
Earthon
girls must be very beautiful.
Paul nodded. They're
gorgeous--gorgeous and exciting. Novaunian girls are just so plain. They're so
plain I can hardly stand it!
Adaum chuckled. Your friend Miaundea Quautar isn't plain. She's
actually quite pretty.
A
lot of good that does me! She's Ton's girl. She's good for him, too. I think
she may actually be reforming him.
Jaunisa opened the door and looked out,
shivering. Little Helauna peered up at Paul and Adaum from behind her mother,
her luxuriant auburn head pressed against her mother's sapphire-embellished
dressing gown. Jaunisa communicated, What
are you two doing out there? It's freezing!
Helauna then communicated in that playfully saucy way of
hers that so reminded everyone of her grandmother Maranda Vundaun, You'd better hurry, Father, because I've almost
eaten all of your breakfast. Then quickly, calculatingly to Paul, I already ate all of yours.
She squealed in delight as Paul chased her
into the kitchen, captured her, and mercilessly tickled her. Her two little
brothers jumped on Paul, shrieking, tackled him effortlessly to the ground, and
attacked him with his own hat and scarf.
*
Deia and Teren returned to Launarda after spending six days
in Norund skiing. Deia had never felt so relaxed, content, or more in love with
Teren. Although she hated the thought of leaving her grandparents and Paul for
an extended period of time, she was anxious to return to Shalaun and get on
with her life. She wanted to finish organizing her home and complete her
education. Lauria was teaching her how to cook, and Ketina and Alysia were
teaching her how to do gemstone embroidery. Deia longed to get back to her piano
so that she could play the new music that had been dancing in her head for two
weeks, music that harmonized with two beautiful mind songs she had recently
assimilated.
Paul met Deia and Teren at the landing
field in Launarda, his face solemn. "Have you two assimilated any news
since you left?"
"No," Teren said, troubled.
"Why?"
Paul motioned toward the station.
"Let's have some tea while we wait for your luggage."
Teren and Deia looked at each other in
puzzlement, then nodded at Paul. They hurried into the station, obtained cups
of zaulyem tea from a synthesizing machine, and sat down in the lobby.
Paul took a sip from his cup of tea.
"Internal Security found the traitors."
Deia looked at Paul over her cup, stunned.
"Traitors? Just how many are there?"
"Two. Brys and Eauva. Everyone is
devastated. Grandfather and Grandmother have temporary custody of the
children."
Deia, in shock, couldn't speak or even
think.
"When did all of this happen?"
Teren asked.
"Two days ago." Paul proceeded to
tell Deia and Teren everything he knew. Deia listened to Paul, becoming more
and more furious by the second. She had known from the beginning that there was
a traitor, but it all seemed so much more real and intolerable now that the traitor
had finally come alive in the form of Brys and Eauva.
Deia crushed her cup in her hand. "I
can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Seventeen and a half years! Aunt
Eauva finally finds the courage to tell her story, but in the meantime, both of
our parents are dead!"
"He was blackmailing them," Paul
reminded. "They knew what he was capable of and were even more afraid of
him than we were."
"They had no reason to be so afraid.
They were here! On Novaun! With the entire Novaunian Fleet to protect them! And
our mother was on Earth living in terror!"
Paul's face tensed at the mention of their
mother, and he stared at the floor, unable to reply.
"Maybe it would be better if we took
the next shuttle to Shalaun," Teren said. "You could just send our
things, Paul."
Paul shrugged and looked up again, his
expression helpless. "I don't know what to tell you. Grandmother has a
room waiting for you, but everything is in chaos--if I could leave now, I
would. It's just awful, sharing the house with those children. The little one
doesn't understand what's happened, but the older ones do, all too well.
They're bewildered and betrayed--destroyed. Faunel won't come out of his room,
and Brenda won't eat. Yesterday Senaun disappeared. For hours. It's
awful."
Teren squeezed Deia's hand. "What do
you want to do, Deia?"
Deia shook her head quickly, her heart
tight with anxiety and anger. "I can't stay here; I can't see anyone right
now."
Paul stood up. "I'll go back to the
house and get your wedding dress. Is there anything else you need?"
Deia shook her head. "No. Just . . . just tell Grandmother I'm
sorry."
Lieutenant Braysel Nalaurev stood and
stretched his stiff muscles as the Fleet shuttle on which he had been traveling
came to a stop on the landing field at the Fleet base in Shalaun. Tapping his
hand on his thigh, he wormed through the crowd of other Fleet soldiers toward
the exit, managing to be the third person to the ground. He swung his white
duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped into a mild, sunny Shalaun day,
eagerly scanning the waiting faces. He saw Maurek Avenaunta, his close friend
and roommate for two years during his tour as a private on the Larv Ylendoshal, the same moment Maurek saw him.
Maurek rushed up to Braysel, exclaiming in
playful horror, What did you do to
your face?
Braysel stroked his beard. This? It's a birth defect. And you thought my
family disowned me because I joined the infamous Fleet of organized murder.
Maurek laughed and threw his arms around Braysel, embracing
him vigorously. They had corresponded regularly over the past year and a half
since Braysel had been assigned to the base ship Jerl Normundz for pilot training, but this was the first time since
then that they had seen each other.
They released each other and moved toward a
transport pod booth. Braysel communicated colorfully about his involvement in
the Senlana conflict, explaining and illustrating in the air with his hands
every detail of his squadron's attack on the Earthon battleship Champion, Champion's destruction, and the eight
Earthon fighters he had outwitted and annihilated in the process.
As they stepped into the transport pod,
Maurek slapped Braysel's chest with its Star of Bravery and Sapphire Cluster, Decorated too! I think I'm envious!
What? Isn't watching Novaun rotate on its
axis enough excitement for you?
Hardly!
If I remember correctly, you're the one who
requested Home Fleet so that you could finally find some excitement with that
little blonde supernova you're in love with. Braysel hesitated. The subject was one so sensitive
that he hadn't dared address it in the inadequate one-way correspondence of
mailing discs. You have managed to
at least communicate with her since you've been back, I hope.
Only long enough to have her humiliate me
all over again.
Those friends of yours provoked her, didn't
they.
No, it was the sight of me that provoked
her.
When are you going to stop being such a jellyfish
and tell her how you feel?
I did tell her how I felt. I told her that
I thought her dress was pretty, that she looked pretty, and it made her
furious. She communicated, "It's a miracle! Maurek Avenaunta deigns to
give my dress his approval. It's too bad there isn't a dance tonight. Perhaps I
would even go with you."
Braysel smacked the side of his head. What is it about that girl that turns you into
such an idiot? It
never ceased to baffle Braysel that Maurek, a man who had always been successful
with women, could be so obsessed with and so terrified of one particular girl. You had to compliment her on her appearance, of
all things. She probably thought you were being sarcastic.
How was I supposed to know she would take
it that way? I wanted her to know that I thought she was pretty, despite what
happened four years ago.
Still,
Maurek, mentioning the dress was stupid. You could have told her you liked the
way she was wearing her hair, anything.
I've tried communicating with her several
times since, but she ignores me. She really hates
me, and I don't blame her.
I do. She hasn't been the epitome of
kindness to you either. Make her communicate with
you. Then at least she'll have a good reason to hate you.
She's just too extraordinary, extraordinary
and beautiful.
No woman is that extraordinary.
They stepped out of the transport pod onto the marble walk
at the base entrance. Maurek shook his head in hopelessness. It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. She's in love
with Ton Luciani.
Braysel stopped abruptly and stared at Maurek in disbelief. The Star Force doctor-traitor?
Maurek nodded weakly. They act like perverse lovers; then they act as
if it's all a big joke. It's obvious, though, that she's in love with him. Who
knows how he really feels about her.
Maurek had to be exaggerating. Perverse lovers?
Maurek nodded again, the muscles in his
face tensing. She gave him a bottle
of men's hair-setting lotion for his birthday with a note that said, "For
all of those wishes that will forever remain wishes."
You
know what's perverse? That you would actually think hair-setting lotion is
perverse.
Maurek moaned. You don't understand. It was an inside joke. Teren explained it to us.
Not long after Teren returned to Novaun, Miaundea told him that Mautysian men
were wearing mustaches. Teren gave his opinion that it was only a fad. Miaundea
pointed out that everyone had once believed the comb-backed hairstyles were a
fad also. Teren asked how the combed-back styles stay
combed back, and Miaundea told him about the hair-setting lotion. Then Ton
communicated, "And just how many Mautysian men have had the privilege of
having you in their bathrooms with them to watch them do their morning
rituals?" Then Miaundea came back with, "There have been so many, I
stopped counting a long time ago."
Braysel was
impressed. Your little girlfriend
has a sense of humor.
It's not so funny. That traitor's about the
most lustful character I've ever seen. You should see the way he leers at her!
Braysel shook his head, amused and a little perplexed. Something's wrong here, really wrong. He hurled his thoughts at
Maurek. Since when does a Novaunian
woman do anything with a womanizer but slowly,
torturously deprive him of his manhood and hurl him screaming in agony into a
black hole?
Maurek laughed.
Braysel threw both of his arms into the
air. My value system is shot to
Andromeda, and all you can do is laugh? He shook his head in amazement. Your little girlfriend must really see something
great in him. Either that, or she's an ocean of insecurity. Or maybe she's an
enchantress.
Braysel stopped and gazed thoughtfully at
Maurek, who was now laughing harder than ever. An enchantress . . . yes . . . that has to
be it. That also explains how a colonel's daughter, one of those mistresses of
Perdition in the flesh, was able to corrupt all of those poor, innocent
Mautysian boys.
Maurek laughed so ecstatically he could barely breathe.
Oh! The mere thought of it makes me shiver
with the thrill of scandal!
Maurek leaned his arm on Braysel's
shoulder, attempting to catch his breath. Only . . . you . . . would
recognize . . . the absurdity . . . of the
exchange between Miaundea and that Earthon about the hair-setting lotion.
You know, don't you, that if she's a true
enchantress, he's in her power, not the other way around, which means that
she'll undoubtedly transform him into her perfect husband!
Maurek suddenly stopped laughing, his face
bloodless.
Braysel smiled deviously. I had to get your attention somehow.
Well, you didn't have to be so brutal about
it!
Now that Braysel had Maurek's attention,
perhaps he could get him to see reason. Don't let her fool you, Maurek. She's a little fake, a very convincing
little fake. She's just as insecure as the rest of us, and I have a feeling she
was just as hurt by what happened between you two that night as you were, and
that she would give anything to know how you really feel.
Maurek shook his head slowly. I don't know if I can believe that, Bray, I just don't know.
Braysel smacked Maurek's back and led him
to the automated taxi that was waiting for them, his heart pounding with the
anticipation of competition. It's
time to do the Run. You think Miaundea Quautar is the source of your torture?
Let me show you the meaning of torture!
They took the taxi to the entrance building of the mammoth
underground VisionRun complex in Auyval Beach, quickly went to the locker room
to change into their running clothes, then rode the transport pod down into the
court area. Braysel and Maurek emerged from the transport pod in the
start-finish corridor at one end of the fifty adjoining twenty-meter wide, one
kilometer-long white rooms. They jogged to separate lanes, deciding between
themselves the limits of their game.
Let's
make it interesting,
Braysel communicated. Eight
obstacles. Setting?
Beach.
No duplications.
The wall dissolved in front of them, and
they ran as fast as they could into separate rooms, completely opening their
minds to each other. Immediately upon stepping into the rooms, they perceived
themselves running on separate versions of a beach.
A headwind suddenly slammed Braysel with
sand. Braysel spit and covered his eyes with his arm, bending over and
struggling against the wind as well as possible.
As Maurek ran, a beautiful sunbathing woman
appeared in front of him. He leaped over her, she suddenly turned to her back,
and his foot came down hard on her stomach, causing her to shriek with pain. He
stumbled and fell face down into the sand. He spit sand out of his mouth,
scrambled to his feet, and began running for the horizon.
The wind dissipated, and Braysel's vision
cleared, and he nearly ran into a massive boulder. He lunged to the side and
encountered another one, and another. Finally he gave up and began climbing.
Had Maurek truly possessed no imagination, Braysel might never have forgiven
him, but Maurek chose physical obstacles opposed to mental ones because he knew
Braysel wasn't as good at them as he was the others.
A wall of seashells suddenly appeared in
front of Maurek to block his path, and hanging on his arm was a basket of
shells. Maurek halted, delighted and vexed. He dropped the basket of shells and
frantically began trying to match the shells in the basket to the shells on the
wall, frustrated that they all looked the same and wouldn't match. After
matching only two, he gave up and began climbing the wall, climbing, climbing,
until he had climbed five meters and still couldn't see the top. The wall
disappeared under him and again he was spitting sand out of his mouth.
Braysel jumped off of the top of the
boulder into a patch of seaweed that coiled around his legs like snakes, pulled
him to the ground, and wrapped around his body too. He struggled to free
himself, becoming more tangled every time he moved. Braysel lay as still as he
could and gently unwound the seaweed from his body, then stood up and ran.
Maurek ran, dodging the fish that were
swarming in the air around him. The air reeked with the smell of fish and
blood. A shark flew straight at him, his teeth sunk into a quivering thing that
looked like Maurek's own leg. Maurek threw his arms over his head and screamed.
Braysel's laughter rippled through both of their minds.
Suddenly the ocean leaped toward Braysel
from the side, violently swirled around his ankles, and pulled him into the
water. Braysel swam vigorously against the waves, feeling as if his lungs would
burst from lack of air. A minute and a half later, he was running again.
Maurek removed his arms from his head and
found himself on his knees in a dark tunnel. He crawled along, feeling eels
writhing all over his body. He shuddered and continued ahead. He eventually crawled
out of the tunnel and into a starlit night.
The beach opened beneath Braysel and he
dropped into a hole, screaming. This time Maurek's laughter rippled through
their minds.
Maurek raced into the starlight and ran
painfully into an invisible wall. The stars all around him blinked in different
patterns, blinking faster and in more complex patterns as he telepathically
generated the same patterns with his mind. He held his temples and panted.
Finally he generated the proper pattern with his mind and the wall dissolved.
Braysel climbed out of the hole and
staggered across a spinning beach.
Maurek ran forward a few meters to see an
enormous, rickety old sea-faring ship in front of him, shipwrecked on the
beach. He ran up a rotting plank to the deck of the ship and found that the
ship had no deck. The plank dissolved underneath him and he found himself
sitting inside a dank, dark compartment holding a tattered note on brown
parchment, written in black, blotchy ink:
"Awareness I give, your mind I set
free
This ship is your brig, unless you find
me!"
Maurek slumped over his knees. Give me some clues! Suddenly he was holding a
fuzzy little gray kuka. Maurek set the animal on the old wood floor, jumped up,
and followed the animal to its bed, where he found his first clue:
"I bob up and down till my survivor is
found."
Maurek ran to the equipment room, finding
his next clue on a flotation device, then hurried from clue to clue to find the
arelada treasure.
Braysel flung himself out of the spinning
beach, picked himself up, and ran like spirit energy toward the horizon. He
stopped abruptly, nearly tumbling headfirst off a cliff. He wiped the
perspiration from his forehead and assimilated his surroundings at a glance.
There was only one way he could go and that was straight down at least fifteen
meters into the ocean, where he could then swim to the next shore. Terror
gripped him. Diving off cliffs was Maurek's demented obsession, not his. You're going to pay, Avenaunta! Then holding his nose, closing
his eyes, and praying he wouldn't vomit in fright, Braysel dropped himself feet
first off the cliff.
Maurek found the chest of arelada trinkets
and the ship dissolved, leaving him horrified to see a sixteen-year-old
Miaundea Quautar standing a few meters away, smiling seductively and wearing
the shimmering, crimson party dress that bared so much of her beautiful neck
and back and curved so harmoniously with her body. If you want to progress further, you have to kiss
me. Maurek stepped
back suspiciously, then suddenly sprinted past her. Scores more Miaundea-images
appeared in front of him, all smiling tantalizingly, all blocking his way to
the finish corridor. Maurek's heart pounded frantically as he stared at the
Miaundea-image that was standing in front of him. She appeared so real,
breathtakingly real, and as terrifyingly beautiful as she had been that night
four years before when he had met her at her front door to take her to the
Salyumala Ball. His hands trembled as he placed them on her waist and leaned to
rest his lips on hers. She wrapped her arms passionately around him and drew
him closer. He touched his lips to hers and she disappeared. "I'm going to
kill you, Nalaurev!" Braysel laughed sadistically.
Braysel pulled himself out of the water and
onto the beach below the cliff. He ran toward the nearing horizon and the
finish corridor, only to be tackled to the ground by a runner coming from
nowhere.
After the Miaundea-image dissolved, Maurek
plunged himself into his final obstacle, a sand-wall maze.
Braysel wrestled himself away from his
attacker and again ran for the finish corridor, dismayed to see seven more
runners coming at him from nowhere. He dodged two successfully before being thrown
to the ground again.
Maurek raced through the maze in
frustration, coming to dead-end after dead-end.
Braysel blitzed through three attackers,
went flying through the air and into the sand, lifted his battered body the
best he could, and crawled into the finish corridor as another attacker dove at
him from behind. Soaked with sweat, Braysel prostrated himself on the floor,
laughing hysterically.
Maurek kicked the walls of the maze and
threw sand wildly in what he believed was the direction of the finish corridor.
You cheater! There isn't any way
out! You slimy cheater!
The sand maze disappeared, and Maurek
stepped forward through the white wall and into the finish corridor.
Maurek kicked Braysel in his side. Get up, you cheating snake!
Braysel, still laughing, lifted himself up on one knee.
Maurek grabbed Braysel's shirt, lifted him, and threw him against the wall with
such force that Braysel gasped. Maurek looked at Braysel threateningly and,
with all of the innocence and false curiosity he could muster, asked the
paradoxical question he always asked whenever Braysel did something outrageous,
the one that always sent Braysel into convulsions: Were you a difficult child?
Braysel burst into another fit of
hysterics. Maurek released Braysel's tank top and leaned against the wall,
attacked by sudden laughter. If only
you could have seen yourself on that cliff . . . and you call
yourself a man . . . Only a jellyfish of jellyfishes goes in
feet-first . . . holding his nose!
Braysel shook his head and waved his hands in front of him,
still laughing. No . . .
you were generating so much heat in the arms of that girl that I was getting
excited. Then . . . He snapped his fingers, then held his hands in the air. Poof! He laughed gleefully.
It's
kind of funny, Bray,
Maurek communicated, still laughing, but only a little. You had her all wrong.
Braysel looked at him in mock offense. Me? He who is Novaun's greatest fantasy master?
What? Would you rather have had me put her in her more natural state of emotion
and have her chop you up into little pieces and throw you over the Cliffs? He made vigorous chopping
motions with his hands up and down Maurek's arm. I guess it is your fantasy.
Maurek chuckled and shook his head. No, you had what she looks like wrong. It's been
nearly four years and she's changed. It isn't just that she's grown up, either.
She's different. There's just something about her eyes . . . It
was that two years she spent abroad, I think.
Braysel began walking toward the transport
pod, not at all surprised that Maurek wanted to discuss Miaundea. Maurek walked
at his side. Two years abroad? Where did she go?
Maurek shrugged. Anthropological
fieldwork of some kind. My father might know. She works for the Agency.
They stepped into the transport pod. She's an anthropologist? How old is she?
She's almost twenty.
And she's already spent two years in
anthropological fieldwork? She's a librarian too, I assume.
Maurek nodded.
"Whew . . ." She must have some kind of mind. They stepped out of the
transport pod and went to the locker room to collect their bags.
She
does. Maurek's
face tightened in irritation. That
was why it was so aggravating when that Earthon was so humiliated to have to
publicly communicate that she is his intellectual superior. He had to do it to
satisfy a wager he made with her, and it nearly killed him. Who does he think
he is? She's a hundred times his intellectual superior! He may be naturally
intelligent, I'll grant him that. Maybe he's even naturally strong in mind
power, but he's an Earthon. He hasn't had an iota of the stringent mind
training we've all had to have. I'm his intellectual superior. And you. You
could smash his mind with a single thought!
Braysel laughed low and baitingly. Don't you wish I would. He added quickly, before
Maurek could continue with his tirade, And I don't necessarily agree. We both know people who are extremely
strong in mind power but who don't use it in intellectual pursuits. I think
it's entirely possible that Ton Luciani may have spent his life using the
meager mind tools available to him in maximum effort to develop an astounding
intellect. I don't believe strong mind power necessarily translates into strong
intellect or vice versa.
Maurek glared at Braysel.
I
do believe, however, that Miaundea is, without a doubt, a hundred times his
mental superior. As for you and me? Braysel shrugged. We're a thousand times his mental superiors.
Maurek laughed.
They left the building and waited many
minutes for a taxi in communication silence. Realization seized Braysel. She went to Saharenper, I'm sure of it. What I
would give to ask her about it! She probably couldn't tell me anything anyway.
The details of its culture may still be classified.
Saharenper? Maurek communicated, baffled, as a taxi glided to a
stop in front of them.
You
don't know about Saharenper? Braysel slapped Maurek reprovingly on the back. You're slipping in your knowledge of current
events, my friend.
No,
your brain has gone nebula. Maurek sprang into the taxi. Whatever Saharenper is, it's not a major news item.
Oh no. Of course it isn't. Not yet anyway.
Its existence was declassified to the Novaunian public two weeks ago, and only
because the Earthons just discovered that the Gudyneans discovered it and that
they and we are doing studies on it. Braysel tossed his duffel bag into the aircar and then
followed it. Sometimes the most
obscure pieces of information are the ones that are the most important.
It
has arelada, doesn't it?
Braysel nodded as the taxi lifted into the air.
Where
is it?
Trentanlia
Cluster.
That
means it's considerably more accessible to Earth than to the Alliance. Without
a doubt, Earth will lay claim to it. Maurek seemed troubled.
The Earthons will try, but Saharenper is no
uninhabited rock waiting to be raped by every galactic power as Erdean was
centuries ago. There are people there, and whether the Earthons like it or not,
the natural development of their society must be considered and respected.
The Saharenperans must not be space
travelers, then. Otherwise we would have had contact with them long before now.
What is their potential for space travel? Do they not attempt contact with
other worlds because they don't wish to, or are they simply incapable?
The report seemed to indicate that they are
incapable. It didn't state their actual technological progress or anything at
all about their culture, and those are both things I'd like to know.
If the planet is incapable of space travel
and at the same time saturated with arelada, then it will need to be protected,
and that would be virtually impossible for the Alliance to do successfully
without abandoning its own territories.
Braysel nodded. Within
a year or two, Saharenper will be the cause of a massive conflict between Earth
and the Alliance, and it may be a conflict we have no hope of winning.
Oh we could win it all right. Easily. We
could annihilate those Earthons to atoms if we wanted to, and we wouldn't even
have to use any weapons!
The Council of Prophets has forbidden us to
use mind-altering tactics. It would be immoral.
And killing isn't?
Braysel smirked. Now
you're beginning to communicate like my parents.
God gives us the right to kill in
self-defense, so why is it so immoral to break into someone's mind in
self-defense?
Because there would be no challenge and
making war wouldn't be nearly so much fun.
Be serious, Bray. I don't understand it.
The Dirons, in their three centuries of decay, have never had the arelada
supply to engage us in a telepathic war, but their mind powers are still
exquisitely sophisticated and telepathic tactics would never work on them. The
majority of Earthons, though, are telepathic midgets. It's infuriating to have
to grovel to them.
I disagree that telepathic tactics wouldn't
work on the Dirons. They are so addicted to their fantasy that their minds are
always open, and they may use all of the arelada they seize to maintain their
vision abilities. It's possible they don't reserve the arelada that would be
necessary to generate mind shields strong enough to protect themselves as we
do, not to mention the fact that we are considerably stronger than they in
sheer numbers.
So
why grovel! Maurek
demanded.
Because
it is immoral.
Maurek shook his head in reprimand as the
taxi came to a stop on his neighborhood landing platform. Don't be a jellyfish, Bray. Of course we know
it's immoral. The question is: Why is it immoral? The only reason you have such
an aversion to trying to understand what makes mind tampering in self-defense
so immoral is because you're afraid you'll discover that the things that make
it immoral are the very things that make killing in self-defense supposedly
immoral, and if you do, you'll have to admit that your parents and all of your
pacifist kinsmen and countrymen are right and that you are wrong.
Braysel clamped his teeth together in outrage. You, of all people, know me better than that.
Maurek smiled gravely. I had to get your attention somehow.
They telepathically authorized their banks to pay the taxi
fare and unloaded in silence. Braysel sent his duffel bag to Maurek's house in
the transport pod. Braysel and Maurek had walked many meters down the wooded
trail before Braysel allowed himself to relax a little and reply, Well, you didn't have to be so brutal about it.
I'm
sorry, Bray, but this war with Earth really disturbed me. It disturbed a lot of
us. I can't help but question our policy against using mind-altering tactics. You can't expect me to believe that you've never tried to understand the
Order's stand on telepathic warfare.
Perhaps Maurek really didn't comprehend the reasons behind
the Order's stand. Perhaps none of his Fleet comrades did. The thought
surprised Braysel. It was so simple. Had he never discussed this issue with any
of them?
Well? Maurek pressed.
I've
spent most of my conscious life trying to understand the immorality of war in
all of its aspects.
Braysel paused, mentally formulating an explanation. We know that as God teaches us, as mortals, the
laws of the universe He sometimes gives a more restrictive, modified version of
certain laws at times, sometimes because He wants us to make some decisions on
our own, sometimes because mortal circumstances won't allow living the higher
laws, and sometimes because if we were allowed to live the laws in their
ultimate forms, we would destroy ourselves.
Maurek nodded thoughtfully.
My
parents and my grandparents and all of their pacifist counterparts believe that
in the ultimate version of universal law, there is nothing whatsoever that
takes priority over the sanctity of the human life and human mind of another
person, that only God has the right to take a life or tamper with a mind,
regardless of the circumstances. They believe that this is the higher, ultimate
law of the universe and that God allows us to kill in self-defense and to
protect our culture and our freedom, therefore greatly restricting our
spiritual growth, because the majority of us are weak and lack the spiritual
strength and faith that God will by His own methods protect us. They believe
that we, as a union of planets, are not ready to live the higher law because we
don't want to live it.
They really believe that? Maurek communicated in
amazement.
Braysel nodded. That's the core of Novaunian pacifism.
As much as you've told me about your
heritage, I don't think I ever knew that.
That's only because you've never thought
about it. You and I and every Novaunian who supports the Fleet in ideology,
whether we realize it or not, believe that freedom of thought and expression of
conscience is the ultimate law of the universe, that we have the right and the
responsibility to defend our freedom and the integrity of our culture, even if
that means killing in defense of ourselves. If we believe that freedom of
thought and expression of conscience is the ultimate law of the universe, than
it is inconceivable that we could ever knowingly deny members of any other
race, no matter how hostile they may be to us, that same right. By using
mind-altering tactics, we would be seizing freedom of thought and expression of
conscience from others and denying them the very right we are fighting so hard
to protect for ourselves.
That may be true, but killing a person
takes away his or her freedom as well, perhaps even more ruthlessly than a
simple mind adjustment would.
A
minute ago, you weren't advocating simple mind adjustments. You were suggesting
annihilating to atoms.
Yes I did, but now we're discussing mere
mind adjustments, all right?
Two years ago, Maurek's attitude would have depressed
Braysel. Maurek was a competent, traditional, and patriotic officer, but he was
like most of the others Braysel had met and been somewhat disillusioned by
during his three and a half years in the Fleet. Most of them hadn't the
faintest idea what they were fighting for. To them, freedom was a word, an
idea. It wasn't real. To most of them, Novaun's enemies were monsters, not real
people, and certainly not their brothers and sisters in humanity. Even killing
wasn't real.
All
right. Your argument that killing takes a person's freedom away more ruthlessly
than mind adjustment is the same one my parents use, but in all honesty, it is
ludicrous. When an enemy warrior comes against me in some fashion and tries to
kill me, he knows there will be a fight, and he knows one of us will be hurt or
die. He has already made his choice, and whether he lives or dies, his mind
will be the same as when he initiated the attack. Even in prison, a person
retains freedom of thought. Earth's Eslavu are alive, but they have no freedom
of thought. Death would be an escape for them. Our current policy of simply
defending ourselves, our territories and trade, and giving reasonable help to
our allies is a policy of defending freedom. Your suggestion of mind adjustment
would make our enemies our Eslavu on some level, and we wouldn't be defenders
of freedom anymore, but conquerors.
So it's ultimately the same old conflict, Maurek communicated
thoughtfully. Which is more
important, life or freedom? Is freedom worth giving our lives for, and is it
worth killing for? Then if freedom is the most important, which is the greater
sin against freedom? Taking someone's life or adjusting his mind?
Right. And when you look at it that way,
the answer is obvious. Killing someone by crushing his mind is the most
intolerable of all. From both the pacifist and the Fleet points of view,
telepathic warfare is immoral.
There is still one question. In the end,
whose freedom is more important? Mine or his? He can exercise his freedom and
in the process assault mine. That doesn't mean he has the freedom to choose the
consequences of that assault. There could come a time when our freedom is in
such danger that we would be justified in using our telepathic powers.
And that is the only time that God would
ever allow us to use them. Braysel shook his head. I
don't know, Maurek. If we ever do come to the brink of destruction as a people,
then I will be the first member of the Fleet to renounce telepathic warfare and
support the pacifist position. Our only hope would be to isolate and rely
solely on the power of God. With the entire galaxy against us like that, none
of us would want to be a part of it anyway. And under those circumstances, I
doubt even telepathic tactics would do much more than merely delay the
inevitable. Besides, the thought of marring someone's mind in any way revolts me.
Those poor jellyfishes on Earth are already victims enough to their own
government, as are the few remaining Dirons to their fantasy and those savage
warring admirals with their broken-down fleets. He felt ill. It's
shameful enough that they make us have to kill them.
The two stopped in front of the home of Maurek's parents.
Braysel communicated numbly, I'm
going to have to pass on the surfing today. May I get a shower?
Maurek gaped at him. You aren't . . .
It's
been three and a half years, Maurek.
Have you had any contact with them at all?
Braysel shook his head slowly. But Earth's invasion of Senlana and the murderous
actions of Jovem Doshyr have made me even more certain that what I'm doing in
the Fleet is right. I have to try and make them understand.
Maurek led Braysel somberly into the house and showed him
where he could take a shower and dress. Maurek seemed relieved that no one was
home.
When Braysel emerged from the bath lounge,
Maurek exclaimed, Are you insane?
You can't go to Mautysia dressed like that!
What?
Is wearing a Fleet uniform a capital crime? What are they going to do? Execute
me?
Still, Bray, it wouldn't hurt your position
any to be a little discreet.
I'm not ashamed of what I am. If the
Mautysian people don't like it, that's their problem.
Maurek walked Braysel out of the house. Just be back before tomorrow afternoon, if you
can. Teren and Deia Zaurvau are having a wedding reception. Colonel Quautar
will be there, I'm sure, and he loves to discuss politics. He just may let
something slip about Saharenper.
Braysel looked at Maurek keenly. You don't have much faith in my success.
I don't mean to offend you, but not even
faith is going to change your parents' position.
Braysel took the taxi to the commuter depot
in downtown Shalaun and took the next airbus to Mautysia. Four others were on
the bus, a young married couple and two men traveling alone. Every one of them
avoided looking at him. Braysel was thankful he wouldn't be obliged to, in any
way, annoy them with polite conversation, as any polite Novaunian person would
never wear a Fleet uniform to Mautysia, and as any polite, well-bred Novaunian
man, would never, absolutely never, disgrace his face with something as
barbaric as a beard.
Airbus wasn't a speedy form of travel, so
it took nearly an hour for Braysel's airbus to fly the nineteen hundred
kilometers across the Gulf of Verzaun. Braysel gazed transfixed at the unruly
green-blue waves of the sea under the bus, remembering vividly the last time he
had crossed the Gulf. He had been traveling the opposite direction then,
leaving home and embarking on a space adventure.
How would his parents act when they saw him
again? And what about his brothers and sisters? He realized, resignedly, that
they very likely would not consent to see him.
Braysel's years as a child and then as a
young man had been ones of intense study and conflicting ideology, turbulent
emotionally, turbulent in his relationship with his parents. At age four he
traveled with his family to Shalaun in their protest of the Latanzan War and
saw the glorious white fighters, the sublime beauty of Shalaun, and people who
were as peaceful and friendly as people in Mautysia. From then on, he
challenged his parents and grandparents with continuing questions and debate.
When
I grow up, I want to see stars up close and see other planets. I want to fly in
one of those beautiful big white birds.
(The Fleet takes good boys and makes them
into murderers.)
The Fleet protects us and our freedom!
(God will protect us and our freedom.)
God expects us to do some things for
ourselves.
(Yes,
but killing is not one of those things.)
If we love our freedom, then we must show
God we love it by being willing to fight to keep it.
(God gives us life and is the only one
justified in taking it.)
If Fleet soldiers are so wicked, then how
is it they are allowed to stay in the Order? How can they be worthy to be
married in the Ordination Rite?
(The
rest of Novaun doesn't know any better. They don't have faith. We live a higher
law.)
Nauren Mostel, of the Council of Prophets,
was a Fleet officer.
(It isn't our business to concern ourselves
with the way Minon Mostel lived in his younger years. Our only concern is how
he conducts himself now.)
On and on went the debate, endless and
perplexing, dismaying to his parents, blasphemous to all generations of his
grandparents. By the age of eleven Braysel had studied his family's history,
Novaun's history, and the doctrine of his religion, had asked all of the
ideological questions, and had decided he wanted to be a Fleet officer. His
parents were horrified, but confident he would abandon his plan long before he
became an adult.
(Verzaun
has never had an army, and no Nalaurev or Jualaz has ever joined the Fleet in
all its two thousand years of existence.)
Then it's about time someone did!
(You cannot be a member of the Fleet and
remain a part of this family.)
Watch me!
Braysel studied continuously. He specialized in telepathy
science since it was a safe subject to which his parents would never object,
developed an astounding memory and mind power, and made his mind power
abilities the base for the rest of his learning pursuits. He delved deeply into
military history and science, astronomy, foreign language, and spaceship
engineering, shunning most social activity outside his family. If he was going
to fly fighters, he was going to know everything about them--he was going to be
the best officer in Novaunian Fleet.
His relationship with his parents during
the two years before coming of age was tense and volatile. His parents were
benevolent disciplinarians, but Braysel's constant challenging of their pacifist
ideology made them angry and defensive. He argued that millions of Novaunian
men had given their lives in service to Novaun through the Fleet and that
Verzaun, Narquasa, the Southern Hemisphere, and all seven hundred and
thirty-one pacifist planets in the Union were cowardly neglecting their duty.
He worked hard to convince them. He was right and they were wrong and that was
that.
Braysel graduated from the traditional
application school at age seventeen, two weeks before coming of age, with a
strong triple major in telepathy science, physics, and mathematics, a feat
virtually unknown on Novaun. There was no celebration on his eighteenth
birthday, only the rending of a family in betrayal and heartbreak.
Braysel ate breakfast that morning, cheerful
and animated, while all nine others at the table stared at him in solemn
despair, communicating nothing. After breakfast, he went upstairs to his
bedroom to get his suitcase, then ran downstairs to say good-bye.
He embraced all seven of his brothers and
sisters, Haunal, Mauya, and Raunen returning his embraces with eyes full of
tears and faces begging him not to reject them, and Lisya, Shauna, Nymon, and
Danal apprehensive and uncomprehending.
Braysel then kissed his mother. Her face
was pale and pinched, and her luminous green eyes were full of tears. He
squeezed her again and communicated compassionately, It's all right, Mother. I'll send a commudisc as
soon as I get stationed. He looked down at his suitcase, then back up at both of his parents. I'm only taking a few things for now, but I have
a box of things in my room I'll want you to send to me once I get settled.
His mother and father looked at each other hastily, then
turned back to him with identical expressions of urgency and grief. His father
communicated, You're really going to
do it, aren't you.
Of course I'm going to do it. I told you
that years ago.
His mother's thoughts were barely discernible in her sorrow
and distress. Even though it goes
against everything we believe in, everything we've tried to teach you.
Braysel gazed at his mother reverently. You taught me to serve God and to follow my
conscience. I'm going into the Fleet to do both.
His mother leaned her head on his father's shoulder and
wept. Braysel stepped back in bewilderment and alarm. His mother had always
been as adamant in the pacifist position as his father and the more inclined to
angrily refute his challenges. She had never been one to cry easily.
His father shook his head sadly. Braysel, I don't think you realize how serious
this is. That you could join an army and kill God's children utterly revolts
us, severely offends our sense of human decency and morality. For the sake of
our values and the stable, uncorrupted home we owe your younger brothers and
sisters, we can't tolerate it. When we told you that a member of this family
could never be a part of Novaunian Fleet, we meant it. If you walk out that
door right now in open defiance of us and join the Fleet, don't even think of
coming back unless you have given it up and your heart has changed.
It couldn't be true.
They were disowning him, completely banishing him from the family. It was a
possibility Braysel had never considered. It was something that didn't happen
on Novaun. It was unreal, a nightmare. It couldn't be happening.
But
that isn't fair! You're making me choose between the Fleet and
you, and it's something I can't do.
We love you, Braysel. Believe me, this is
not what we want. But you are giving us no choice. You can't have it both ways.
Intellectually, morally, Braysel knew that his father was
right. He couldn't have it both ways. He might as well give his mother a
necklace made of stolen arelada, light a Vaenan taffuao at the dining room
table, or bring home a mistress. Emotionally, however, he couldn't accept it.
It's
political, isn't it! No . . . it wouldn't do for the great
activists to have a son who's a Fleet officer; it wouldn't do at all. I'm a big
fat sacrifice to your precious Isolationist Movement!
His father gazed at him, hurt. You know that isn't true.
Keep your beliefs, his mother pleaded. We don't like them, we don't agree with them, but
they're your right. Stay here and be a telepathy scientist, or a physicist, or
anything at all you want to be. Or go to Shalaun and be with people who also
believe in the Fleet. You can even go into space and fly commercial cargo ships
or transports. You can believe what you believe--you can even be a
pilot--without joining the Fleet.
Braysel knew they were sincere, but he felt empty and
betrayed. You're both so good at
preaching human rights, yet you don't have the human decency to let me follow
my desires and my conscience.
His parents appeared as betrayed as he felt, betrayed and
disappointed in him. His jaw quivered violently. I wish I had never been born into this inhumane family. Then he picked up his suitcase
and strode to the door. From Haunal, he received emotions of reprimand,
betrayal, and desolation; from Mauya, an outburst of sobs and a hysterical plea
to stay.
That had been three and a half years ago.
What right had he to believe that anything had changed? Not only did he have no
right, he had no hope. He thought about them every moment of every day, as hard
as he tried not to. He missed them desperately. His desire for their
companionship, their respect and support, was as strong and as unrelenting as
his obsession to make up for all of the Verzaunians and those from the other
pacifist countries and worlds in the Union who had, for two thousand years,
shunned their duty to help keep Novaun free. There lay his eternal dilemma and
his eternal anguish, his ultimate choice to join the Fleet made purely in an
effort to maintain the self-respect that could only come by following his conscience.
He had to somehow make them understand.
Braysel watched Mautysia come closer to his
view, overwhelmed by its spectacular beauty. It, like Shalaun, was a city lined
with white beaches and clothed in luxuriant tropical vegetation. Unlike Shalaun,
it was hilly and backed by the sharp peaks of Mounts Shraulnara, Laundera, and
Wamunsaula, sparkling in the sunshine and giving the illusion of reaching
upward to Paradise.
Braysel disembarked downtown and walked
leisurely through the city, so relishing the feeling of being home that he
wasn't irritated by the disgusted stares his appearance generated in the people
he passed. He delightedly noticed several new buildings that boasted his
father's colorful, dramatic, ultra-luxurious architectural style.
He walked along the marble sidewalk up a
hill, then down a hill, then into a residential area, where he telepathically
hailed a taxi. He took the taxi back to the coast and east to the Mautysian
Cliffs, passing many mammoth estate homes before finally coming to the one his
father had lovingly designed and given to his mother fifteen years before.
The home stood on the cliff with its back
to the ocean, elegant and sublime with its gold-flecked marble, enormous
emerald and sapphire trimmed windows, and steeply sloped, gold-tinted roofs
that reached into the sky. The numanda was breathtakingly in bloom, crimson and
cascading down the hill. The lawn was soft and deep green, and the ocean was
glistening in the background as far as his eyes could see. Braysel didn't think
a place more beautiful existed on all of Novaun.
Braysel walked slowly into the front
courtyard, past the miniature citrus trees, the gold planters laden with
flowers, and the shimmering fountain to the front door. It was lunchtime, and
although his brothers and sisters would undoubtedly be at school, both of his
parents would be home.
Braysel hesitated a minute at the door. He
couldn't telepathically send a summons the way a polite Novaunian person would
if wishing to enter someone's home. They would never let him in. Feeling a rush
of resolve, he pushed down the door handle, opened the door, and quietly
stepped into the three-story foyer. Sunshine shone through the window above the
door, illuminating the emerald floor and making the diamonds in the chandelier
above him sparkle.
The home was silent except for the tinkling
of the diamonds in the chandelier, but it smelled wonderfully of water
chestnuts and sweet sauce and homemade cheese rolls. Braysel walked quickly through
the foyer to the back of the house and the kitchen, his stomach rumbling.
His mother and father were sitting at the
table, eating and communicating, and at the head of the table, strapped into a
high chair, was an unfamiliar baby girl, intently studying a little piece of
cheese roll before she daintily put it into her mouth. Braysel watched the
child in awe. Was this another sister?
His mother saw him first. She dropped her
fork loudly on the crystal plate. She stared at him in shock and repugnance, as
if he were a corpse. His father immediately turned in his chair and watched him
approach the table, wearing the same expression of shock and repugnance as his
mother.
Braysel set his duffel bag on the floor,
sat down at the table next to his father, and reached for a cheese roll. I happened to be in town, so I thought I'd stop
in for lunch.
Braysel ate the roll in three quick bites,
then reached into his duffel bag. His father didn't care much for presents.
When he wanted something, he bought it. His mother was different though. She
loved presents, and the more sentimental and extravagant the better.
Braysel brought forth a small, flat box
wrapped in gold paper and handed it to his mother. He had found the necklace on
Homzan in the Republic of Vaena, an elegant Orter Tunase design with tiny
pearls and emeralds. It had cost him a little over six hundred gold coins, a
sixth of his annual salary, but his mother loved emeralds and this particular
necklace would do justice to her glamor and elegance.
Braysel gazed at her apprehensively. I know you will probably be too ashamed to wear
it, but I want you to have it anyway, if only just to look at.
His mother shook her head quickly and
pushed the box away unopened.
His mother's refusal to accept the gift
hurt him deeply. Please, Mother.
She shook her golden blond head again, trembling and
disconcerted, turning her head as far to the side as she could to keep from
looking at him.
Then it came. The anger. The outrage. His father
stood up. How dare you walk into
this home and defile it with that uniform!
The muscles in Braysel's face tightened. I've never been so proud to wear this uniform in
the service of Novaun.
His father's eyes narrowed. And are you also proud to wear that monstrosity on your face?
Braysel stroked his beard. My comrades call me Angel-Rebel. I had to do
something to live up to the Rebel half of it.
Even
your Fleet comrades would never so insult us by wearing their uniforms into our
home. Your visit here is over, Lieutenant. He extended his arm to the door.
Braysel didn't move. Do you know anything about Earth? I didn't think you did, so let me tell you something about it. Earth
lusts after arelada. Earth's emperor-prophet telepathically controls the minds
of the majority of its citizens. They live for war and aren't afraid to die
since it is by dying in war they believe they receive their salvation. Nearly
four weeks ago, Earth's Star Force, in an abominable attempt to gain a fortune
in Senlana arelada, invaded the Senlana Republic. Do you have any idea how many
Senlanans would have died if Earth had succeeded? Novaunian Fleet and the
Gudynean Navy and the Latanzan Fleet and all of the other star armies that make
up the combined Alliance forces are not conquerors or murderers but keepers of
our peace and freedom. In all the history of Verzaun, we never had an army, it
is true, but we didn't need one. We never had enemies like Diron or Earth.
Now his mother was angry. If you've come here to try and change our position on the Fleet, you're
wasting your time.
And what do you imagine would have happened
to Novaun had Major Zaurvau and his son not discovered Jovem Doshyr on Earth
and returned the Doshyr twins to Novaun? Do you think the twins would have just
happily told their uncle that they didn't want to come to Novaun and steal
arelada for him? Do you think that negotiating would
have done a milligram of good against that murderous traitor?
Braysel had struck a sensitive spot in his mother. Her anger
dissipated for the moment, and all of the blood left her face. She had been
Jovem Doshyr's leading lady on two occasions.
His father gripped Braysel's armpit, pulled
him out of the chair, and dragged him toward the door. We can all learn a lesson from the Doshyr
tragedy. Your mother and I are not about to allow you to corrupt any member of
this family the way Jovem Doshyr corrupted his younger sister.
You have a lot of heartless gall, comparing
me with Jovem Doshyr! The man is a cold-blooded murderer!
And
in your three and a half years in the Fleet, you have never killed anyone, his father communicated
sarcastically, still firmly dragging him out of the kitchen.
It
isn't the same thing! Whatever Earthons I killed in the Senlana campaign were
making every attempt to kill me! And if we had not repulsed the attack, Senlana
would have been ravaged!
His mother communicated weakly, So you have killed men in battle.
Braysel froze. He couldn't bear that he had
so disappointed his mother. He couldn't tell her that Star Force flew as many
women into battle as men. It was bad enough that he knew. Braysel put his hand
gently on his father's. He shook his head quickly. I'll go.
Braysel's father released Braysel in the hallway next to the
kitchen. Braysel went back into the kitchen to pick up his duffel bag,
trembling. He looked in anguish from his father to his mother. I didn't want to. I didn't. But someone has to go
into battle. Someone has to protect our freedom.
Braysel threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked
away from the table. He stopped before stepping out of the kitchen and turned
to face them again. They were watching him desolately. He looked tenderly at
the baby girl who was sitting so quietly in the high chair, still intently
studying every piece of cheese roll before she ate it. The child--she isn't . . . ?
His mother answered expressionlessly, She's Larysa, Haunal's daughter.
Haunal was a year older than Braysel, the oldest of the
children, and one of Braysel's closest friends and companions of his youth. When was he married?
Two
years ago. His
mother hesitated. Are you married,
Braysel?
Was he married? Braysel gazed at his mother, baffled. What
an odd question. Of course he was not married. There had been no marriage
contract drafted for him and a bride and he obviously had not had the arelada
Eternal Triangle embedded in his temple.
Several moments passed before realization
awoke within him. She thought he might have married a woman of another race,
perhaps even of another religion. Well, why not? They believed, after all, that
he was a traitor and a murderer. They probably thought he was a rapist and
child molester too. So what that he had been married by a Latanzan Legal Minister
to an Erdean prostitute with three children by different Gudynean fathers and
that he kept them all happily on Telchon gambling and injecting prime nuayem
for pleasure?
If the thought of marrying a woman who did
not share his history and culture and making her the mother of his children was
incomprehensible, the thought of marrying a woman who did not share his
religion was outrageous and repugnant. Braysel knew his mother did not mean to
insult him, but he was insulted anyway, severely. No, I'm not married. I have three beautiful
mistresses who keep me very satisfied. Sincerely hoping they would believe it, he left.
*
Once Braysel was gone, Trynenuin Nalaurev returned to his
chair. We both knew he would come
back eventually.
Aulanora Nalaurev's hand trembled uncontrollably against her
temple. He hasn't changed at all. If
anything, he's more resolute and even more impossibly impertinent.
What did you expect? One cannot reject such
great Light and have the Spirit of God remain with him. Only complete
repentance will bring him back to us.
Aulanora sighed. What
is it that drives him?
I
don't know. I wish I could get inside of him and discover it myself.
One
thing is for certain, Tryn, he really believes what he is doing is right.
The tone of Trynenuin's thoughts lifted with hope. Grandfather will never perform a marriage for him
and give him and his bride the moral and financial support of the family. He
must know that. Perhaps the desire to marry will become so strong in him that
he will seriously re-evaluate his position and repent.
Aulanora's shook her head sadly. He will just marry the daughter of another Fleet
officer or a girl of another race and religion.
Even Fleet officers don't marry their
daughters to men who have no families, and it's unlikely he would marry a girl
of another race or religion. It's a possibility that had never occurred to him
before today. He made that obvious when you asked him if he was married.
Then
he will never marry. Nothing means as much to him as the Fleet and his warped
perception of God's will. Not family, not marriage, not anything. She moaned and leaned her face
into her hands. I don't even think
he likes girls.
Trynenuin smiled, barely. Braysel may have his problems, but revulsion for women is not one of
them. His sense of idealism has always been too strong to allow anything else
to get in the way. If he hasn't shown an interest in girls, it's only because
there hasn't been one come into his life extraordinary enough to capture his
attention.
Aulanora looked up at her husband again in despair. And when she does, she will not share our
ideology, but will believe in him and in the Fleet and we will have lost him
and many of our descendants forever.
Trynenuin tenderly took his wife's hands and pressed them to
his lips. We haven't lost him yet,
Aulanora, not completely.
Braysel left his parents that afternoon,
furious. How dare they call him a traitor and a murderer! How dare they compare
him to Jovem Doshyr! How dare they assume he would marry a woman of another
culture, as if no Novaunian woman would ever have him! It was an outrage, an
utter outrage. Who needed a family like that anyway?
He walked back toward the city, kicking the
sidewalk as he walked. Then, as always, his anger dissipated enough that he
could feel his emptiness too, and memories of all the good times flooded his
consciousness--all of the evenings together as a family at his mother's theater
premieres and Mauya's dance recitals; all of the evenings with the Jualaz clan
in Uncle Maunen's ballroom, singing and dancing and performing; all of the
Eighth Days at their private beach below the cliffs, swimming and surfing and
roasting water chestnuts over the fire; all of the mornings and evenings
together holding hands around the dining room table in family prayer; all of
the First Days after Devotional with the Nalaurev clan at Grandfather Jeldaun's
mansion in the city, eating Grandmother Shynauna's bean cakes with poppy seed
sauce; the parades and family history plays on the Day of Ancestors; all of his
parents' lavish late-night parties he had invaded with Haunal and Mauya, Mauya
begging to dance and he and Haunal begging for food; the hours with his father and
Haunal learning how to do VisionRun and designing elaborate buildings out of
blocks or sand; the times he had bickered with his father and brothers over who
would get the last piece of cake.
When Braysel could tolerate the memories no
more, he opened his mind to InterMind and escaped into telepathy vision games.
There were mazes and adventures, mathematical equations, color matching, word
problems, and multitudes of mind puzzles. He walked dreamily down the walk
until the daily three-hour vision limit was exhausted and he was flung back
into reality.
Braysel mentally condemned the three-hour
vision law. Now those Dirons had the right idea. Life was pain. Life was
sorrow. The only escape was to abandon oneself to fantasy. It would be the
perfect life.
Once Braysel reached the more populated
region of the city, he decided to visit Haunal. Haunal had never believed
Braysel's desire to go into the Fleet had anything to do with conscience,
simply because he believed deeply in the pacifist ideology of their family. He
felt that if Braysel were following his conscience, he would never have even
considered joining the Fleet. He and Haunal, however, had been the closest of
friends growing up, and Braysel knew that he, of all the members of his family,
would see him. He checked InterMind for Haunal's address, then headed to the
Mautysia Academy of Science section.
Braysel jogged up the stairs of the walk
that led to Haunal's tall, narrow town house. When he arrived at the door, he
hesitated. Since he wasn't a polite Novaunian person, he decided a telepathic
summons was out of the question. He thought he ought to show a little couth, so
he reached out and knocked. It was near the seventeenth hour, so Braysel hoped
he would catch Haunal before he went out for the evening.
Panic suddenly seized Braysel. What if
Haunal's wife answered the door? That would be a disaster. He didn't worry for
long, however, because at that moment, Haunal himself opened the door. Haunal
stared at Braysel in horror. The beard really was a shocker, and Braysel knew
that Haunal couldn't help but be stunned.
The muscles in Haunal's face relaxed. Bray, he communicated, somewhat timidly, it's so wonderful to see you. He was
trying hard to be sincere. Please . . .
please come in.
Braysel stepped into the tiny foyer after Haunal, and the
two stood there restlessly, groping for something to communicate. Somehow,
Haunal never got around to asking Braysel to sit down.
Braysel asked him about his work. Haunal
was a geologist employed by their Uncle Sunen and the House Jualaz on a team
that worked to discover new prime sources of arelada. Haunal was less than
eager to discuss his work, so Braysel asked him about his new family.
Haunal was telling Braysel about his wife
Candesla's specialty as an electrical engineer and how they both volunteered
research time at the Academy a few hours a week, when Haunal's wife stepped
into the room. She was rather pretty, with light brown hair like Haunal's and a
reserved, content bearing.
When Candesla saw Braysel, however, her
expression immediately changed to one of contempt. "No man wearing the
uniform of the Fleet is welcome in my home! You may think that bearing the name
Nalaurev gives you that right, but you are a disgrace to that great name,
Lieutenant Braysel." She put a loathing emphasis on "lieutenant"
that made Braysel shudder with disgust and fury. "I won't stand for it!
Get out!"
Now
that's the purest example of love and universal brotherhood that I've ever
seen.
You have the gall to stand there and preach
universal brotherhood to me? While the brother you hurt and betrayed three and
a half years ago is standing right here next to you?
Such pious derision! Such spiritual
sacrifice! Such sublime sisterly affection! I'm flattered, I
assure you, mineste.
"Get out!"
The muscles in Haunal's face twitched, his
eyes filled with grief. He nodded at Braysel and motioned weakly to the door,
then turned and trudged away.
I
apologize for honoring you with my presence, mineste. Braysel bowed low and left. He
thought with despair that he would most likely never see Haunal again.
Braysel knew that if Haunal wouldn't see
him, his second cousin Shaun Jualaz, another close friend of his youth,
wouldn't see him either. Shaun was as entrenched in the pacifist ideals of
their family as Haunal, and when his father took the seat of High Patriarch of
the Great House Jualaz, Shaun would become the legal heir. It wouldn't be right
for Shaun to be friendly with his Fleet cousin; no, it wouldn't be right at
all.
Braysel wanted to see another second
cousin, Kara Jualaz, perhaps more than he wanted to see anyone, but he wasn't
sure it would be a good idea. He knew Kara would see him, but he also knew that
seeing him would disturb her. Kara had always believed Novaun should adopt
pacifistic policies, but, at the same time, she had always found it difficult
to believe the Fleet was an organization of murder. She, of all the members of
Braysel's family, had come closest to sympathizing with his position, and he
needed that glimmer of support he had always felt from her. He knew, however,
that his desire to join the Fleet had confused her to the point of anger. She
wanted to believe the Fleet was an organization of murder, but couldn't, and
she wanted to believe that what Braysel was doing was right, but couldn't.
Braysel and Kara were the same age and had
studied telepathy science together in school. They had spent hundreds of
volunteer hours at the institute his grandfather Jeldaun Nalaurev had
established for the development of telepathic medical technology, absorbing
everything they could learn from his grandfather and the other specialists. Kara had worked hard over the years to persuade Braysel to
become a telepathy scientist instead of a Fleet officer, and her arguments had
been powerful.
Your
grandfather needs someone to help him direct the Institute. He wants you, Bray.
I want to be a Fleet officer!
But you have a gift! You would be an
extraordinary telepathy scientist or telepathic systems engineer.
I
have to join the Fleet.
You're perfect for the Institute, and the
Institute is perfect for you.
The
Fleet needs me, Kara. It's what I have to do. It's what I want to do.
Don't do it, Bray. The Jualazes won't
accept it; the Nalaurevs won't accept it. It will destroy your family, and it
will destroy you.
No. He couldn't see Kara. It was completely out of the question.
Hope flickered though him as he realized that there was one
other person who might see him, his sister Mauya. Mauya had come of age a year
and a half before, and Braysel wondered where she was dancing and if she was
still living at home. He checked InterMind for information on her and
discovered that she had married a man named Raunel Dylesnum two months before.
He recalled that Raunel was the boy with whom she had danced since age
thirteen. The information surprised Braysel because Mauya had never been
interested in Raunel romantically. He knew because Mauya was one who felt that
all of Novaun would be offended not to know her every love interest.
Braysel felt uneasy. He knew nothing about
Raunel other than what he looked like and how he had danced three and a half
years before. Her husband could have qualms about her renewing relations with a
brother who was a Fleet officer. Braysel didn't think he would ever forget
Candesla's anger and contempt. As for how Mauya, herself, would feel about
seeing him, he had no idea. Pacifism, in both its political and moral
implications, had never been important to her, but Braysel knew that much could
change in three and a half years.
When Braysel, in his inquiry, discovered
that Mauya and Raunel were members of the prestigious Mautysian Company of
Classical Dancers and that they were dancing the lead roles in The Valley of Nesluada at Tastunad Hall that night,
he immediately made a reservation. To Braysel's surprise and delight, someone
had just cancelled his reservation, so he was able to get a seat, and a very
good one. With theater only two nights a week, shows filled far in advance,
especially shows performed by the leading companies.
Braysel had three hours to get himself
presentable. As much as he loved the Fleet and enjoyed outraging Mautysia in
his uniform, none of the Fleet uniforms, even the formal one he was wearing,
were close to being adequate for Tastunad Hall. The Fleet uniforms had to have
been designed by a Shalaunian; those people hadn't the slightest idea how to
dress.
Braysel immediately secured a suite at the
Tastunad Inn and sent the valet to Nomundal's for a selection of top quality
formal suits. While he was waiting, he ordered a sandwich and did some quick
calculating in his head. Within seconds, he figured that after paying for his suite,
the show, dinner, and saving some money for tips he would have one hundred,
ninety-two gold coins and forty-three silver coins left for a suit. He would
stay with Maurek when he got back to Shalaun, and Maurek, as cheap as he was,
was always good for a meal. If he had to, he wouldn't eat for a couple of days.
The valet arrived with a tailor and a
generous selection of suits. Braysel tried several of them on but wasn't
satisfied. He sent the valet back to Nomundal's for another selection.
Eventually he found one he could wear without being embarrassed and had it
altered and hemmed, a crisp, impeccably tailored white suit with gold threads
and trimmed with rubies, emeralds, and topaz. The gold belt was wide,
extravagantly engraved around the edges, and completely inlaid with rubies. The
half-vest was stitched with gold and covered with tiny rubies, emeralds, topaz,
and other precious gems that sparkled in an elegant, flamboyant, original
design.
Braysel had the one hundred and thirty gold
coins charged to his account, directed the valet to carefully hang his suit in
the closet, then telepathically sent for a hair stylist.
Braysel arrived at the theater thirty
minutes before the dance presentation was scheduled to begin. He sank into his
red velvet chair and soaked up the atmosphere of the theater. No other theaters
in the galaxy came close to possessing the sophistication and artistic opulence
of the theaters in Mautysia, just as no planet in the galaxy came close to
producing the flawless, transcendent, deeply emotional art of Novaun. The
theater was ancient and beautiful with its gold and marble floor,
larger-than-life, exquisitely painted and sculpted scenes on the walls and
ceiling, and massive gold and gemstone chandeliers. Every square centimeter of
the theater had been designed and crafted with the same expert artistry that
had gone into the productions that had been performed on its stage for the past
four thousand years.
The performing arts on Novaun were unique
in that few Novaunian artists were able to participate in their art on the
occupational level. Novaunian law designated three hours on Second Day and
Third Day nights for InterMind drama and five hours on Fifth Day and Sixth Day
nights for theater. Novaunian art, with its intricate vision qualities, was for
both the artists and the audiences so emotionally taxing that the designated
days had to be observed to avoid slipping permanently out of reality and into
fantasy.
In the early days of Novaun's telepathic
society, hundreds of thousands of actors, dancers, musicians, and dramatists,
unaware of the dangers, had gradually withdrawn into themselves and lived with
the characters they had created or performed in the vivid universe of telepathy
vision, no longer functional in society. Even with the strict laws controlling
the dramatic arts, some artists believed themselves invulnerable or involved
themselves with uncontrolled obsession. The law couldn't control the individual
and how often he withdrew inside himself to experience the glories of creation
or to relive what he had already created, assimilated, or experienced, and
hundreds of Novaunians all over the Union slipped into the universe of fantasy
every year.
The curtain rose, and Braysel abandoned
himself to the romantic history The
Valley of Nesluada,
one of Novaun's great classical dance dramas from the Third Millennium. Scenery
for dance dramas in general, unlike the more modern vision scenes that were
used for plays, was traditionally constructed of elaborate painted murals and
sculptures. This particular production of The Valley of
Nesluada, however, used mammoth
tapestries with the scenes embroidered into the fabric with gems. The
glittering tapestries, along with the opalescent vision veil cast over the
stage by a dramatist, gave the dance drama an extremely romantic, mythical
quality.
The dance drama began with the great
prophet Raynau in the year 586 receiving instructions from God in Amaria's
Rainbow Forest to call the original twelve patriarchs of the Great Houses. The
man portraying God was draped in an unembellished robe of white satin, wore a
wig of flowing, wavy white hair, and wore contact lenses that made his eyes
glitter like gold. Telepathy vision light seemed to emanate from him, giving
him the necessary aura of glory and immortality.
The dance drama went on to recount Raynau's
difficult journey across the Gulf of Verzaun and into the depths of the Crystal
Mountains to find the fifteen-year-old Nostaul Jualaz, played by Mauya's
husband Raunel. Nostaul Jualaz's father had died when he was an infant, and
although Nostaul was young, he would be the patriarch and ruler of Verzaun.
Nostaul travels with Raynau and his mother and younger brothers and sisters to
Mautysia, the seat of Verzaunian civilization, to be publicly ordained. Along
the way, in the beautiful valley of Nesluada, he sees an enchanting girl,
Glauria, picking flowers, and he falls in love.
Mauya danced the role of Glauria, beautiful
with her golden hair sparkling with jewels and wound around the back of her
head in a braided chignon. Her willowy body was perfectly toned, and she wore a
gem-trimmed gown with a tight-waisted bodice and full, filmy, knee-length
skirt, the traditional dress for the Novaunian female dancer.
Glauria and Nostaul are too young to marry,
so Nostaul promises he will come back for her in three years, and she promises
she will wait. Nostaul is ordained patriarch and ruler of Verzaun, and he
spends the next three years under the guidance of Raynau, learning how to be a
servant and judge of the people. Nostaul leaves Mautysia to get his bride, but
on the way, his entourage is caught in a blizzard, the icy snow and cold air
produced realistically through telepathy vision. Almost dead, he is taken to
the isolated mountain home of an old miner and his family and spends the next
year, weak and sick, being gradually nursed back to health.
In the meantime, Glauria, heartbroken that
Nostaul has not returned to her, decides to marry Jaunel, a wealthy merchant.
The afternoon before her wedding, Glauria goes to the Valley of Nesluada and
mourns the rejection of Nostaul.
Mauya as Glauria danced wistfully,
poignantly, emanating emotions of anguish and despair. Musicians played
haunting melodies on flutes crafted in gold as they had been anciently, and the
mind chorus echoed with silvery shadows and the dying moans of a desolate
heart. Mauya was beautiful as Glauria and completely convincing.
Just when Glauria's sorrow had reached its
peak and she was curled up on the ground sobbing, Raunel as Nostaul danced
timidly, compassionately onto the stage. He gracefully knelt on one knee and
touched her chin. She gazed up at him in astonished bliss as they rose from the
ground together, touching only barely, and they exuberantly danced a pas de
deux, their emotions and movement overflowing with devotion and ardor. Braysel
didn't think he had ever in his life witnessed anything so beautiful.
The dance drama ended with the wedding and
Nostaul and Glauria in white, reaching for each other as they posed at the
points of a crystal triangle rendered through vision. The brilliant presence of
God was suspended at the apex of the triangle, his arms reaching down to
Glauria and Nostaul, and the entire dance company posed at the sides and in
front of the crystal triangle amid a multitude of Verzaunians produced
telepathically.
The curtain lowered, and the thousands of
people in the audience applauded vigorously. The curtain rose again, and the
dancers floated four by four to the front of the stage as they were introduced.
Mauya and Raunel were the last of the company to be introduced, holding hands
and bowing deeply from their knees. The applause and emotional outpouring from
the audience intensified to a deafening level as the curtain lowered. Braysel
jumped up from his seat and, along with everyone else in the audience,
telepathically begged the company to make another appearance. The curtain rose
again, and the dancers bowed. Mauya and Raunel gracefully danced a few steps,
then again bowed deeply as the curtain lowered for the last time.
Braysel wormed his way through the crowd
toward the stage. He couldn't wait to see Mauya. He was acquainted with at
least three-quarters of the people he saw along the way, and half of those were
relatives. He greeted them all cordially and asked polite questions about their
families, acting as if he encountered them every Sixth Day night at the theater
and was in other ways actively involved in their lives. They all stared at him
incredulously, and he managed to move on to the next relative or acquaintance
before the incredulity turned into outrage. Only his mother's younger sister
Launya, who was normally so generous and vibrant, was visibly hostile.
Don't
you dare try and see your sister! You've caused enough trouble as it is! Braysel's teenage cousins
Naura and Taunya stared at his beard with hands over their mouths, blushing and
snickering.
She
was magnificent, wasn't she? Braysel communicated as he waved, allowing himself to be
carried away from his aunt by the crowd. He heard Naura and Taunya burst into
giggles.
The crowd carried him forward a few more
meters, and Braysel saw his cousin Kara Jualaz. She was tall and willowy like
all of the Jualaz women, with large blue eyes and golden hair that was long and
crimped. Braysel had not felt comfortable with the prospect of seeing Kara, but
he couldn't help but be happy now. "Kara! Hello!"
Hello,
Bray! Kara
embraced him. Mauya was terrific,
wasn't she? Tonight was my fifth time seeing the show. I just love it!
She
was beautiful; she's always beautiful.
Kara hugged him again. I've missed you, Bray. Why did it take you so long to come home?
I've been busy. This is the first chance
I've had to get back to Novaun. I'm between assignments.
Kara's spirit caressed his with concern. How are you, Bray?
Braysel shrugged and looked away, struggling to subdue his
turmoil. I'm fine.
Kara could feel that Braysel was not at
all fine. She expanded her spirit around his in an attempt to comfort him.
Moments passed, and she smiled weakly. Your grandfather finally gave me status. I could make a suggestion or two
in your favor. She
looked at him hopefully.
Discussing his grandfather and the
Institute was too painful. Braysel touched Kara's temple. I see you aren't married yet. He forced himself to smile. I could introduce you to many fine unmarried men.
Kara's hope suddenly changed to confusion. She didn't want
to believe that fine, upstanding men existed in the Fleet. In a way, Braysel
felt sorry he had disturbed her and wished he had communicated something else;
in a way, he was glad he had disturbed her and wanted to pour his three and a
half years of Fleet experiences into her and make her see how fine and
upstanding Fleet men really were.
Kara laughed uneasily. Bray, you have more gall than anyone I know.
Thank you, but no thank you! She drifted away from him, waving slightly.
Once Braysel lost sight of Kara, he turned
and hurriedly pushed through the crowd on his way to the stage.
He eventually arrived backstage and looked
for Mauya. When he saw her, he rushed up to her. Mauya! You were wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!
Mauya spun around to face him, her makeup-laden eyes and mouth
flying open in astonishment. After a few seconds of standing there paralyzed,
she screamed and threw herself into his arms. Bray! I can't believe it! It's you! It's really you!
Braysel squeezed her tightly. Mauya stretched her body up to
kiss him, then stopped suddenly. She stared in lurid fascination at the beard.
She reached one finger gingerly out to touch it, then quickly pulled it back.
After a second, she regained her courage and tried to touch it again, but she
still couldn't bring herself to do it. She laughed and hugged him again. Only my outrageous brother would ever grow a
beard! What do Mother and Father think of it?
What do you think? Father called it a
monstrosity before he kicked me out of the house again.
Mauya's eyes became grave. So you are still a part of the Fleet. I thought so, but I wasn't sure.
Braysel nodded slowly.
Mauya squeezed his arm. I have to go change. Where are you staying?
The Tastunad Inn.
I'll meet you at the restaurant there in
forty-five minutes.
You mean it doesn't matter?
Mauya shook her head quickly.
What
about your husband? Haunal's wife nearly bit my head off!
I forget that you don't know Raunel. No, he
won't mind. See you later! And within seconds, she had fluttered away.
Braysel left the theater and walked back to
his hotel in high spirits. At least one member of his family cared that he
existed. He had brought gifts not only for his mother, but also for all of his
younger brothers and sisters. The gifts he had brought for the other ones were
silly trinkets, but Mauya's gift was special, just like his mother's, and he
was glad he would be able to give it to her. He pulled the gold-wrapped box out
of his duffel bag and carried it carefully with him to the luxurious restaurant
at the Tastunad Inn.
Mauya and Raunel arrived ten minutes after
Braysel did, Mauya elegantly dressed dancer style, with an opalescent,
gem-trimmed body leotard, glittery slippers, and a circular skirt that was
covered with colorful gems. Her golden blond hair was still pulled back into a
braided chignon, and she wore a thin layer of mascara on her long lashes, rouge
on her cheeks, and bright red gloss on her lips. Raunel was not a tall man,
about the same height as Braysel, and he wore a dramatically tailored,
unembellished one-piece suit of shimmering deep gray linen that, along with his
luxuriant, ashy dark hair and huge gray-blue eyes, made him seem graceful,
shadowy, and mysterious.
Braysel rose from his chair as Mauya and
her husband approached the table. Raunel greeted Braysel warmly with a clasp of
his hand as Mauya slipped into her chair.
The two young men sat down, and after they
had all telepathically surveyed the menu and ordered, Braysel communicated to
Raunel with all the seriousness he could muster, Whatever possessed you to consent to dine here with me in such brotherly
affection? What are you? Ill? Deranged? Or just plain stupid?
Mauya laughed. Braysel glanced at her with a mischievous
smile.
Raunel looked at Braysel knowingly. Mauya possesses me.
But
I'm the family homicidal maniac. I may just cut your heart out and amputate
your head while you sleep. I have a whole collection, you know. Heads and
hearts. I give the bones to my friend Lieutenant Avenaunta. He beats his mother
with them and then sharpens his teeth.
Mauya, by this time, was in hysterics. She threw her hands
over her face and hid her head under the table in an attempt to smother her
laughter.
Braysel looked under the table at Mauya. What? You don't think it's fair that I give all
the bones to Lieutenant Avenaunta? Major Haubun doesn't want them, and neither
does Lieutenant Nybaur. They both prefer to collect fingernails. He looked back up at Raunel
and shrugged.
Raunel dropped his chin into his hand, and
his arm collapsed under his torso. He burst into laughter, seeming more like an
uninhibited little boy than a mysterious shadow.
Mauya sat up again and wrapped her arms
around Raunel's neck. I told you
he's just like Grandfather! I warned you, and you didn't believe me! You
couldn't believe that the leader of the Isolationists and the only Verzaunian
man to ever join the Fleet could be just alike! I told you!
How
dare you compare me to that militant fanatic! Braysel communicated playfully.
Mauya and Raunel gazed at each other
nodding, then laughed some more.
A waitress approached the table with their
salads and drinks, and Mauya and Raunel worked quickly to compose themselves.
Mauya took a sip from her glass of fizzy citrus punch, and Jaunel reached
immediately for the nut shaker and sprinkled the crunchy mixture all over his
salad. Once the waitress walked away, Mauya slipped her arm under Raunel's and
urged, Tell him why. Tell him really
why.
Raunel handed Braysel the nut shaker. The Isolationists and Fleet supporters can war
without me. Political partisanship would make it more difficult for me to
withdraw convincingly into a role and would detract from my aura as an artist.
Braysel laughed. And
just what does your mother-in-law think of that?
Mauya communicated excitedly, Mother is absolutely outraged! Raunel has almost drawn some sympathy from
Father, though, I suppose because architects aren't supposed to have any aura,
even famous ones, and Father doesn't have any even if he's supposed to. But
anyway, Mother and Father were actually arguing about it, because Mother
couldn't tolerate that he could even begin to sympathize with the idea.
Braysel laughed freely. Life continued as normal here at
home. A part of him felt as if he had never left. Another part of him felt sad
that it had moved on without him.
Mauya's telepathic chatter continued on and
on through dinner with all the city and family gossip, Raunel as content to
simply sit by and assimilate as Mauya was to communicate.
Braysel finished eating his soufflé, then
reached under his chair for the gift he had brought for Mauya and set in on the
table in front of her.
Mauya's hazel eyes glowed with
anticipation. A present! This is wonderful!
You always give the most wonderful presents. She ripped the gold wrapping paper off the box, then
lifted out a delicately carved box made of polished green stone that looked
very much like malachite but was much harder. She gingerly opened the box and
gasped when she saw a little dancer wearing a frothy green gown spin in time
with the melody generated by the box.
Braysel watched Mauya in satisfaction. It's a music box, and the girl is a Latanzan
zsuka dancer.
Mauya closed the box and the music stopped. Then she opened
the box again and the music played. She and Raunel took turns opening and
closing it, both fascinated.
Mauya reached over the table and hugged
Braysel, kissing his forehead. Thank
you, Bray, it's beautiful!
But that's not all of it, Braysel communicated as Mauya
sat back down. Look inside of the
box.
Mauya looked at Braysel, puzzled, then
peered into the box. A moment later, she was tearing gold paper from another
gift. It was a small bottle of perfume that was labeled in Manourean.
"Perfume!"
It's
bluuanez, Braysel
explained, and it's extremely
popular everywhere but Novaun. It's supposed to smell just a little different
on every woman who wears it.
Mauya immediately opened the bottle and
sniffed its contents. "Ooooh!" She gazed at Braysel wide-eyed. It's so erotic and exotic. I could never wear it!
I'd be banished from this city!
Braysel chuckled. Wear it for your husband. You'll make him
delirious with passion.
Beaming, Mauya dabbed some of the perfume
on her neck and put her arms around Raunel, pressing close. "Take me to
Paradise, sweet partner!" Raunel smiled at her seductively and nuzzled up
to her neck.
Braysel watched the two in pleasure. Then
he felt a stab of sadness that he had not attended their wedding.
Raunel kissed Mauya, then communicated to
Braysel, still clasping Mauya close, That
is a wonderful scent. Where is it from?
Manoure. It's a small republic, less than a
hundred planets, but it produces the most extraordinary perfumes, colognes, and
soaps.
Mauya released Raunel and leaned toward Braysel, smiling
conspiratorially. So, dear brother,
is there a special woman in your life who's wearing your gift of bluuanez and
making you delirious with passion?
Braysel let out a little grunt, as if the
possibility were inconceivable, and shook his head quickly.
They
do let you meet women on your ships, don't they? The old men in the Fleet must
have daughters.
A strange mixture of despair and frustration churned within
Braysel. He avoided Mauya's probing gaze, shrugging. We usually see them in port. There are parties
and outings and seminars and . . . well, you know. I'm just
having too much fun flying fighters to think much about women.
Oh, come on Bray! In all this time you must
have met a few who were pretty and intelligent enough to capture your
attention!
Finding attractive women wasn't a problem. But finding
interested women . . . well, that was a different matter
entirely. For a moment he was furious--furious at Mauya and her innocent
curiosity, furious at his mother and her insinuating question, "Are you
married, Braysel?"
I
haven't met any yet who are even close to being as beautiful as Mautysian
women.
Mauya grabbed his hands across the table. Come home, Bray.
I
want to. They won't let me.
You know good and well why they had to do
what they did. You defied them and scorned everything they believe in,
everything that is a part of our heritage. Of all the things on Novaun you
could have done, Bray, you had to join the Fleet.
I scorned them? What about me? What about my feelings and my desires!
Mauya's pretty little mouth quivered. You're the one who left.
So now they send you to pacify the family
embarrassment and lull him home.
That
isn't true, and you know it. You wouldn't be this way if only you knew how
heartbroken they are and how much we all miss you.
Braysel stared at the table, feeling paralyzed.
Several moments passed and Mauya
communicated again, her emotions overflowing with tenderness and love, Quit the Fleet, Bray. Just quit and come home.
I can't.
You can. Don't you see? It isn't the
Isolationists who are wrong, or the Fleet that is wrong--what's wrong is that
our family is torn apart.
I can't quit, Mauya. I can't quit the Fleet any more than you can quit
dancing. God is with the Fleet, and He wants me in the Fleet. It's what I have
to do.
You're only one person, Bray. You aren't
going to make that big a difference. Your colleagues didn't have to reject
their families to join the Fleet. Let them be the ones to fly the fighters and
command the battleships. Please . . . please,
Bray . . .
I
can't. Braysel
stood up, his eyes avoiding his sister's hurt face. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . .
The image of Mauya's tear-filled eyes burned into his mind,
he hurried out of the restaurant, nearly running.
Braysel spent the rest of the night on a
lonely Mautysian beach not far from his hotel, brooding in front of a fire. He
awoke the next morning at dawn after having slept only two hours, walked back
to his hotel to shower and change his clothes, then went to breakfast while he
waited for his suit to be cleaned.
After checking out of the hotel, he went
back to Shalaun and spent several hours surfing with Maurek. Braysel
communicated nothing of his previous day in Mautysia, and Maurek asked nothing.
Later that afternoon, the two young men
went in their finest attire across the walk to the Zaurvau family home, now
owned by Teren's sister Ranela, for Teren and Deia Zaurvau's Shalaun reception.
Wanting to congratulate two friends on their marriage was reason enough to
attend this reception, but Braysel knew that Maurek's desire to attend was
wrapped in ardor, anticipation, and apprehension. He was obsessed with the
prospect of getting a glimpse of Miaundea. Braysel was more interested in
discussing the spirit dimension formula with Teren, Saharenper with Colonel
Quautar, and getting his chance to stare at the infamous Dr. Ton Luciani.
Maurek and Braysel were approaching the
gate to the backyard when Maurek seized Braysel's arm and communicated in a
good-natured but threatening way, Don't
you dare communicate anything to embarrass me!
Braysel looked at Maurek innocently. You mean you don't want me to go up to Miaundea
and communicate, “Hello, my name is Bray. I'm here with Maurek. You know
Maurek. He's the one who's been having fantasies about you from the time he
discovered he was a boy.”
Maurek moaned. This
is going to be a long night.
Braysel chuckled and opened the gate.
Maurek communicated cheerfully with people
he and Braysel passed on their way to the reception line and introduced Braysel
to some of them. Most of them stared at him as if he were an alien. Braysel
wanted to laugh. These Tavoneans were just too prosaic!
Only Teren, Deia, and a young woman were
formally receiving guests at the moment. Braysel assumed the others were
getting refreshments. Teren and the young woman were communicating gaily; Deia
stood by, silent and disinterested.
Deia's eyes brightened a little when she
saw Maurek. She took hold of his hands and squeezed. We're so glad you could come!
Maurek lifted one of Deia's hands to his lips
and kissed it. He addressed her in English. "You make a beautiful bride,
Deia Zaurvau!"
Deia smiled. "Thank you."
Maurek and Teren embraced each other
vigorously. Once Maurek's attention turned to Teren, Deia's attention turned to
Braysel.
"It is a pleasure to meet you,
Deia," Braysel said in English. He took her hand in his and kissed it in
the proper Earth custom. "My name is Bray Nalaurev."
"It's nice to meet you, Bray. You know
English, so you must be in the Fleet. Is that how you know Maurek?"
Braysel nodded. "Maurek and I met
three and a half years ago as privates on the Larv Ylendoshal.
We studied English and nine other languages together during our two years as
roommates."
Deia's long, delicate fingers traced the
gem-embroidered designs in Braysel's half-vest. "Where did you get this
magnificent suit? It's so colorful and so dramatic and so un-Novaunian! Paul,
my brother, nearly made himself and the rest of us insane trying to find
clothing like this!"
Braysel chuckled. "You mean it is
un-Tavonean and un-Menauran. Evidently neither you nor Paul have had the
pleasure of visiting Mautysia."
"No, we haven't, but we would both
like to. Paul will be even more anxious now when I tell him about your suit. He
can't complain too much anymore, though, because Miaundea is in the process of
designing a wardrobe for him. She finished several articles while she was in
Launarda, and he is ecstatic! But I don't suppose you know Miaundea, do
you?" She glanced at Maurek, who was still communicating with Teren and
Alysia. "No, I don't suppose you do."
Braysel's didn't dare miss this
opportunity. He wanted to somehow inspire Maurek to be bold in expressing his
feelings to Miaundea and thus persuade her to seriously communicate with him,
and he knew he could manage the task far better if he understood Miaundea.
"Perhaps you can introduce us sometime."
Deia gazed at him knowingly. "If you
weren't here with Maurek--you have to understand, Maurek and Miaundea aren't
terribly fond of each other--I wouldn't have to introduce the two of you at
all; Miaundea would introduce herself to you. She will love that suit, and she
will literally go insane over your beautiful beard!"
Braysel knew that anyone with good taste
would appreciate his suit, and he also knew that no woman born on Novaun or any
of its worlds could help but loathe his beard, despite Deia's suggestion to the
contrary with regard to Miaundea. Consequently, there was only one way he could
reply. He stroked his beard and looked at Deia as if he were insulted.
"Who wouldn't?"
Deia laughed and slipped her arms around
Teren's waist, kissing him on the cheek. She said in playful reprimand,
glancing at Braysel, "You told me that Novaunian men don't wear
beards!"
Teren immediately diverted his attention to
Braysel. "They don't."
Maurek shrugged. That's what happens when a devout Verzaunian
pacifist joins the Fleet. Something inside of him snaps.
Braysel laughed. Maurek grinned and put his hand on
Braysel's shoulder, presenting him to Teren. Teren, Alysia, this is my friend Bray Nalaurev, Lieutenant Bray Nalaurev.
Bray, this is Teren Zaurvau and his sister Alysia Quautar.
Braysel greeted Teren and Alysia with fingertips touching
theirs. Alysia stared at his beard in fascination. Teren was interested in
Braysel's family name. You really
were a Verzaunian pacifist.
I
am a Verzaunian, but I was never a pacifist.
Teren studied Braysel's face. You must be related to Dr. Jeldaun Nalaurev. You look too much like him.
He's my grandfather.
And his father is Trynenuin Nalaurev. Maurek had directed his
thoughts to Alysia, and Braysel wondered if she was interested in art or
architecture.
Alysia's face suddenly went bright with excitement. Oh, I love your father's style! Someone should
commission him to design a building for Shalaun. This city could sure use a
good shot of drama!
Braysel chuckled. One
of my father's buildings would look so out of place in this city that its
residents would demand it be torn down within a week of its completion!
So
what does your family think of your being in the Fleet? Teren asked. Certainly they don't approve.
Braysel shrugged. They
disowned me.
Dr. Ton Luciani walked up to the group,
sharply dressed in a dramatically tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt
and a long burgundy waist sash held in place to the side with an Earthon pin.
He embraced Teren and Deia with affection. He kissed Deia's cheek. "He
treating you well?"
Deia nodded and smiled.
Ton
narrowed his eyes threateningly at Teren. "He'd better be."
Teren's eyes shone with laughter.
"Maurek, have you met Ton yet?"
Maurek shook his head slowly, unable to
keep his feelings of suspicion and disgust from revealing themselves in his expression.
Braysel bit his lip to keep himself from laughing.
"Maurek, Ton Luciani; Ton, Maurek
Avenaunta."
Ton held out his hand to shake Maurek's,
surveying Maurek curiously. "You must live near here. I've seen you
around."
"I grew up on this walk. I get back
for a few days every two weeks or so on liberty."
"You're a Fleet man, then."
Ton was as urbane as Maurek was ingenuous,
and Braysel had a feeling he was going to have to step into the conversation
soon to keep Maurek from making a fool of himself.
Maurek nodded. "I'm a strategist and a
navigator."
Ton gazed at Maurek intensely. "Maurek
Avenaunta . . . I know that name." He frowned, trying to
recall. Suddenly his face lit up and his mouth pulled into a grin of delight.
"You're the domineering prude who thinks Miaundea's a shameless little
hussy!"
Maurek flushed. "I have nothing but
the utmost respect and admiration for Miaundea."
"Then why does Teren say you think
she's a hussy?"
Teren was communicating with another guest,
but he retreated from the conversation long enough to glance at Ton and say,
"You leave me out of their ridiculous fight! I only repeated what Miaundea
herself thinks!"
Ton laughed; Maurek looked as if he would
be sick. Since the reception line had gradually reconstructed itself and guests
were continuing to arrive to congratulate Teren and Deia, Ton and Braysel and
Maurek were obliged to move in the direction of the refreshment table.
Before Braysel could walk away, he felt an
anxious telepathic jolt from Deia. The
suit! Where in Mautysia did you get the suit?
Nomundal's on Tastunad Main in the theater
district. Persuade Teren to take you to see The Valley of
Nesluada. My sister, Mauya Dylesnum, and her husband
Raunel dance the lead roles.
Oh! A ballet!
Not
exactly, but almost. Novaunian classical dancers dance with their emotions as
well as with their bodies, and they do not dance on their toes.
Oh, but still! I'm sure it's wonderful!
Thank you! I hope we see you again soon, Bray.
So do I.
Deia then gave her full attention to the new arrivals, and
Braysel gave his full attention to the spectacle right next to him.
Ton gazed at Maurek in extreme interest.
"So why does Miaundea herself think that you think she's a hussy?"
Maurek's cheeks were red and his tongue was
obviously paralyzed. Braysel put his hand affectionately on Maurek's shoulder
and answered for him, "You see, Maurek has this ugly monster lurking
inside of him named Temper."
Ton gazed at Maurek in empathy. "She
has that effect on you too? Between you and me, I wish she was a shameless
little hussy. She'd be a lot easier to deal with." Ton reached for a glass
of punch. "The domineering I understand. We both know that a man has no
choice but to deal with Miaundea in that way if he wants to avoid complete
physical and emotional castration."
Braysel laughed, suddenly yearning to meet
this bewitching little creature who inspired in these two men such rage and
obsessive desire.
Ton looked at Maurek penetratingly.
"Why does she think you're a prude?"
Braysel communicated to Maurek privately, If you want him to stop asking you about
Miaundea, just say, in your most serious tone of voice, "Because I
am," and then get yourself some food.
Maurek's answer was immediate. "Because I am."
Then to Braysel: You'd better be
right or you're dead! Maurek sauntered past Ton to the buffet, appearing sufficiently
nonchalant.
Before Ton could say anything, Braysel
leaned forward and gazed at him intimately, as if letting him in on a deep,
dark secret, and said in a very low voice, "You have to understand, Maurek
must make everyone believe he is a prude. That way no one will ever see any of
his unrestrained, insatiable, mutated appetites."
Ton listened in amusement as he sipped from
his glass of punch, and Maurek's hand shook as he loaded his plate with fruit,
cheese, bread, and shellfish. His face moved through many red and pink shades
as he did everything in his power to restrain himself from laughing.
"Miaundea loves people to believe
Maurek is a prude. You see, she and Maurek have been lovers for years, and this
perpetual fight of theirs is how they keep it secret. We all know what
Miaundea's father would do if he ever found out--Colonel Quautar does have the
reputation of being a bloodthirsty mercenary."
Ton and Maurek exploded with laughter.
Braysel quickly took Maurek's plate before
it ended up on the other side of the yard, wearing the most serious, offended
expression he could muster. "You think I'm joking! This is the man who
cleans his teeth with gamma rays, shoots his children's pets for target
practice, and sends spies and double agents with complimentary ovens to the
Nuntusils on Brego!" Ton and Maurek both erupted into another burst of
hysterics. The Bregoian Nuntusils were cannibals.
Maurek, with considerable effort,
straightened his face and asked Braysel in his most serious tone of voice,
"Were you a difficult child?" Braysel smiled. Then he laughed and
handed Maurek's plate of food back to him.
Ton handed Braysel a glass of punch.
"Who are you? I would have remembered you."
Maurek grinned. "This is my companion
in depravity, Lieutenant Bray Nalaurev, the Fleet's notorious
Angel-Rebel."
Braysel and Ton shook hands, and Ton asked,
"So, did you get the name before or after you grew the beard?"
"Before. Long before." Ton's
eyebrow's shot up with interest.
"The beard is new," Maurek said.
"Bray's from Mautysia and is the only Verzaunian man to ever join the
Fleet. His father is a famous architect, his mother is one of Novaun's most
glamorous actresses, and his grandfather leads Novaun's Isolationism
Movement."
Ton reached for a plate and began filling
it. "They're pacifists then. I daresay I'm not the only person here who is
a traitor."
"Ah . . . but there are
some very important differences between you and me." Braysel held up one
finger. "I doubt very much you became a traitor for an ideal." He
held up two fingers, smiling indulgently. "My parents are not only famous,
they are rich, disgustingly, gloriously rich. I had to take a reduction in pay
to become a traitor." He shot up three fingers. "I'm not only a
traitor, I am a murderer too. I saw my father yesterday, and to him, I'm no
different from the traitor that all traitors worship, the great Jovem
Doshyr."
Maurek shook his head indignantly, his face
tightening and his eyes narrowing in outrage.
Ton grinned. "You're right. Not even I
have had that honor." He picked up a shellfish and waved it a little.
"Are you a vegetarian?"
Braysel set his glass of punch on a plate
and reached for the nuts and cheese. "I am."
"My partner communicates
telepathically with her plants. I thought she was crazy, but she showed me the
Awareness image of one of her plants in the Awareness monitor. If plants have
spirit bodies, then why is it not killing to eat them, but it is killing to eat
animals?"
Braysel turned and looked at Ton in
surprise. "Good question!"
Maurek shrugged. "Even pacifists have
to eat."
Braysel nodded thoughtfully. "I would
really like to know my mother's answer to that one. I cannot wait to ask her if
she thinks the grain that made the flour in her bread screamed out in pain when
it was harvested!"
Ton's eyes lit up with realization.
"You're related to that fanatical telepathy scientist doctor who tried to
get the spirit dimension formula banned from military research."
Braysel nodded at Ton as the three moved
away from the buffet table. "The one and only Dr. Jeldaun Nalaurev. He's
my grandfather."
"How many generations back?"
"Six."
"Do you know him?
"Yes, of course."
"So what does a devout pacifist family
do with one of its members who joins the Fleet?"
"It disowns him."
Ton nodded thoughtfully. "So in
Novaunian terms, what does that mean?"
"My parents will not see me or have
any kind of contact with me, nor will most of the members of my extended
family. As far as the family organization is concerned, over which my grandfather
Jeldaun presides, I am completely on my own spiritually, which means my
grandfather will not perform any ordinances for me. I am also completely on my
own financially."
"That shouldn't be too much of a
problem," Ton observed. "You have status, don't you? You must make a
decent enough living. You probably wouldn't need your family's help
anyway."
Braysel was amused that Ton understood so
little of Novaunian culture that he was blind to the predicament. In a way, he
felt sorry for him for understanding so little of closeness with God and family
that he could not see any facet of life beyond an individual's own personal
universe. "Supporting myself is not the problem."
"I have a question for the former
Earthon," Maurek said suddenly. Ton looked at Maurek expectantly.
"Why in the galaxy did your government order the Senlana campaign, killing
nearly a million people, when Earth did not have a chance in eternity of
winning?"
Ton looked at Maurek in surprise. "But
that isn't true. It may have been premature, but it was an enormous
power-seizing opportunity. It just it turned out unfavorably, fortunately for
Novaun, unfortunately for Earth."
Maurek shook his head vigorously. Even
Braysel was surprised by Maurek's show of passion. "Superficially it
seemed a great opportunity, but when all of the various factors are taken into
consideration, ordering that attack was complete stupidity." Maurek
immediately began generating all of the various possibilities, the planets and
their rotations, and the positions of the various fleets involved in telepathy
vision.
The images flew by Braysel in a blur, and
he was only able to assimilate a mere half of the material Maurek presented,
but what he assimilated was easy to understand. Earth had initiated an attack
that it had had no hope of winning.
Maurek waved a roll in Ton's direction.
"Do you not see? Earth had, at best, a fifteen percent chance of winning
this campaign. I ask again, why in the galaxy would Earth's government order an
attack it had no hope in eternity of winning?"
Ton frowned, obviously puzzling over the
possibilities.
"Perhaps it attacked Senlana to divert
the Alliance's attention away from more enticing plunder--Saharenper,"
Braysel suggested.
Maurek nodded at Braysel, then looked again
at Ton.
"No," Ton said, shaking his head.
"Earth can't help but be interested in Saharenper, that's true, but the
Senlana campaign had more to do with Sanel King than with Saharenper." His
dark eyes glowed with understanding. "Haven't you wondered why Earth
refuses to give King to your government? Why it allows itself to suffocate
economically to protect this man who is no good to it now? There's a connection
between Earth's refusal to give up King and the Senlana invasion. There has to
be."
Ton's suggestion fascinated Braysel and he
wanted more explanation. "What kind of power could King hold?"
"Maybe he is blackmailing the people
in power over him," Maurek said.
"Do either one of you know anything
about Earth's internal politics?"
"A little," Braysel replied.
"You know that the Divine Emperor is
the head of state and under him is the Council of Elders."
Both Braysel and Maurek nodded.
"All right, then. One of the Elders is
Saint Kravim, and he's the Director of Defense. His first assistant is Admiral
of the Fleet Laddan, who directs Star Force, and his second assistant, the one
who directs intelligence, is, or was, Sanel King. King could have some volatile
information on either Saint Kravim or Admiral Laddan or both, and it may be the
two of them who are working so hard to protect King. It wouldn't be outrageous
to speculate that the Divine Emperor is unhappy about Earth's political
condition now, that he wants to give King to your government but is in some way
prevented from doing so by Saint Kravim and that Saint Kravim, in a desperate
attempt to appease the Divine Emperor, ordered troops into Senlana to secure a
continuous supply of arelada."
Maurek nodded that he was satisfied with
Ton's suggestion.
Ton
looked quizzically from one to the other. "Now I have a question for both
of you. Why does your Fleet allow any of its people to die in battle at all?
Why don't you use your arelada and your telepathic powers to make your enemy
fleets see ships that aren't really there? Or make them think their power
supplies are inadequate? Or surround them with imaginary asteroids?"
"We are forbidden by the Council of
Prophets to use mind-altering tactics," Maurek replied.
"So what does your religious organization
have to do with war?"
"The people of Novaun want the support
and power of God with them in everything they do," Braysel explained,
"which means that they support the High Prophet as an advisor to the
government and that they demand that our military leaders are righteous men who
possess the gift of prophecy."
"You're jok--" Ton suddenly
froze, gazing in trepidation at the reception line. Braysel and Maurek
simultaneously turned their heads to see what had caused Ton such distress.
There, vigorously embracing Teren, was Miaundea.
Maurek watched Miaundea, his eyes glowing
with unrestrained excitement. Braysel watched Miaundea in a scrutinizing way,
hoping to discover what made her such an enchantress.
Miaundea certainly was lovely--Braysel
couldn't deny that--but he couldn't help but be surprised that she was just an
ordinary girl. Perhaps her style of dress was an artistic, stunning celebration
of her femininity, made even more dramatic by her blond hair draped unbraided
on her exposed back, but that was hardly enough to give her the status of
enchantress. Braysel had expected a more vibrant girl, one not so reserved in
manner, a girl so beautiful, so seductive, that she made him seethe with stormy
hunger. That was, after all, the effect Miaundea had on Maurek, as much as
Maurek tried to deny it. Maybe that was it. Maybe Miaundea could never have the
same effect on him that she had on Maurek, precisely because she did have that
effect on Maurek. There were four women in a man's life who were sacred--his
mother, his sister, his brother's wife, and his best friend's girl. Still, he
had to admit, she was incredibly lovely.
Ton handed his plate to Maurek. "I'd
like to buy you dinner tonight. Meet me at Sashna's at the nineteenth
hour."
Maurek shrugged. Braysel nodded. "All
right."
Ton took several steps toward the reception
line, hesitated, then turned to look at Braysel and Maurek again, his
expression resentful and dour. "Have either of you ever experienced an
erotic nightmare?" Then without waiting for an answer, he turned and
walked over to Miaundea.
Maurek watched the meeting of the two with
intense interest, and, at the same time, extreme difficulty. Braysel observed
them analytically.
When Miaundea saw Ton, her expression was
at once excited and apprehensive, and as they approached each other, Ton was
finding it difficult to maintain his dour expression. Hesitating, Miaundea took
his hands in hers and gazed up at him in love and complete submission, her eyes
glossy and her lips quavering. "I'm sorry, Ton. I'm so sorry."
Ton, ever so gently, lifted her hands and
pressed them against his cheeks, gazing at her with a tenderness that was
startling. "So am I."
Braysel was both surprised and touched.
Miaundea's love for Ton was wrapped in such compassion and vulnerability that
Braysel wondered how she could be the same severe, intimidating, impenetrable
little lady Maurek had described to him. Braysel studied Miaundea, comparing
what he saw to what Maurek had told him, and from that comparison emerged the
vision of a young woman whose heart he was able to discern with clarity, as if
he were looking through arelada, a young woman he knew and admired.
Maurek communicated to Braysel in
amazement, I would never have
believed it. She's turned that arrogant Earthon into a complete jellyfish.
Total mush!
Braysel turned abruptly to Maurek, feeling an urge to beat
him in the head and shout to his face, "Don't look at Ton, you idiot, look
at Miaundea! Look at the girl you think you love!" Maurek was so proud
that he wouldn't allow himself to see that Miaundea was as soft, as submissive,
and as much of a jellyfish as Ton.
Braysel's urge to physically knock some
sense into Maurek quickly passed, and he wanted to laugh. Maurek and Miaundea
were so much alike they were unbelievable. Ton said it himself--complete physical and emotional castration.
Maurek chuckled and turned to communicate
to his brother Taunen, while Taunen's wife, with their two little girls, greeted
someone else.
Miaundea said to Ton, "We need to
talk."
Ton nodded acquiescently. As they turned to
walk toward the front yard, Miaundea noticed Braysel, who was watching her
unapologetically. Her eyes traveled with interest from his shoes, to his suit,
to his beard, to his eyes, and she smiled at him in amused approval.
Braysel couldn't resist. He communicated to
her with affection, Well, it appears
I finally get to meet the hellion of Auyval Beach.
Miaundea's eyes twinkled banteringly. If I'm a hellion, what does that make you? Some
kind of terrorist?
Those ardent green eyes really were extraordinary. Braysel
grinned and nodded at her as she rested her hand on Ton's arm and disappeared
with him around the side of the house.
Ton allowed Miaundea to lead him to the
backyard and pull him down with her as she carefully sat down under the huge
willow tree. Reluctant to relinquish the security of her touch, Ton slid his
fingers along the back of her hand and held it on his knee. She gazed at him,
her eyes sincere, the shadows of the willow branches moving gracefully back and
forth across her face. "Why didn't you reply to my communications?"
"I was afraid you'd act as if nothing
had happened."
"All I wanted to do was apologize," Miaundea said gently.
"That night I just panicked. I said some very cruel things to you, and I
only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
Ton grazed Miaundea's cheek with his
fingertips. "Why are you so afraid, Miaundea? I don't want to hurt
you."
"I know. I guess I'm afraid that I'm
going to do something I don't really want to do and that I'll hate myself for
it. But more, I'm afraid that I'll hate you."
"You aren't making any sense. It seems
to me that you've been feeling so much grief, anger, and frustration when we've
been together because you won't admit to yourself what you really want."
"No, Ton. It isn't that. You don't
understand."
Ton moved closer to Miaundea and stroked her
hair over her ear. He had never seen her eyes so full of emotion, nor had he
ever dreamed it was possible to feel such passion. In the beginning, all he had
wanted from her was her body and her willing submission. He wasn't sure when
that had changed, but it had changed. What he wanted now was more a
relationship of mutual support and affection. Miaundea was different, special,
and he didn't want anyone else.
As far as she knew, though, he was just
after her body. "I think I do understand. You're unsure of my feelings for
you." Ton wanted to tell her how he felt, but he wasn't sure how to
express it.
Miaundea's lips barely moved, then
tightened, her head tilted toward him just slightly, her eyes intense as if
trying, through pure force of will, to help him articulate his feelings.
"I like you a lot, Miaundea." Ton
paused, waiting to hear her burst into scornful laughter. She didn't laugh, she
didn't speak, she smiled, and Ton was pleased. "I want us to be only for
each other."
An expression of such shock consumed
Miaundea's smile that Ton was startled. He thought for a moment about what he
had just confessed to her, and he realized how ridiculous it must have sounded.
He had never been reluctant to flaunt the fact that many women had passed
through his life. Not only that, but Novaunian woman were so repulsed, so
outraged, or so inspired to laughter and scorn by the prospect of casual
physical intimacy that he was unable to continue in his previous lifestyle even
if he wished it.
"It's what I want, even if we weren't
here. I understand if you don't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either. I
don't know what else to tell you, though. It's how I feel."
The shocked expression on Miaundea's face
melted into one of tenderness. "I believe you, Ton."
"You do?"
Miaundea smiled. "Of course I
do."
Ton wanted more than ever to make love to
her. He hardly dared touch her, though, not after the other night. He didn't
think he could live with another rejection. He asked softly, "And you?
What do you want?"
"I'm not sure how to tell you
this." Miaundea looked away for several moments and studied the grass,
then looked back at him again, her eyes solemn. "I'm in love with you.
First I tried to fight it; then I tried to deny it, but I couldn't."
Feelings of warmth, happiness, and security
consumed Ton, feelings he had never before experienced in this way, feelings
that were far different from the disdain and constraint he had expected to feel
hearing a girl declare her love for him. For a moment, he hadn't a care in the
universe. She would be his lover now without shame.
One hand timidly crept to her waist, and
the other caressed her arm. "Come with me, Miaundea, while every one is at
the reception. We can go to your apartment if you'd feel more comfortable. I
want to make it perfect for you, perfect for us."
Miaundea shook her head slowly. "I'm
sorry, Ton, but that isn't what I want."
Everything between Miaundea and him was so
perfect. How could it not be what she wanted? Ton didn't know what to say.
Miaundea placed her hands gently on his
cheeks, her expression one of earnestness and anguish. "As much as I love
you and admire you in certain ways, and as flattered as I am that you hold me
in such high esteem, the greater part of me will never want the relationship
you want right now. I don't want to hurt you, but you have to understand. If I
really wanted to be intimate with you, I would have done it already." She
shook her head quickly, still gazing at him with grief-filled eyes. "I
want something more, Ton."
"And just what is that something
more?" Ton already knew the answer, and he could feel the bitterness rise
within him again. The situation was so unbelievable it was almost funny. He had
spent years having sex with girls who, as much as they enjoyed the pleasure he
gave them, despised him, girls he had never pretended to like or respect. Now
he had a girl for whom he felt extreme affection, a girl whose companionship he
wanted desperately, a girl who was interested in him personally and who even
believed she loved him, and for that girl, even love wasn't enough.
Miaundea said softly, "I want a man
with whom I can have a family and an eternal intimacy, a husband."
Ton backed away from Miaundea and leaned against
the tree. "So that's it. You won't make love to me because you're being
faithful to a man you may not meet for another ten years. He must be some kind
of perfect man--some kind of god--to be worth so much self-denial."
"No, Ton. He won't be perfect. Just
perfect for me."
Ton grunted. "And do you honestly
believe that this perfect man will save himself for you?"
"I do," Miaundea replied with a
dignity and sincerity that was amazing. As resentful and as jealous of that
other man as Ton felt, he admired her all the more for not allowing him to
intimidate her. She continued, "On Novaun there are no double standards
with regard to physical intimacy."
What was she? An idiot? A foolish idealist?
A naïve child? "The men on this planet sure do have you women fooled. You
don't really believe that all of those men away from home in the Fleet and
visiting foreign ports on a regular basis are denying themselves natural
pleasures."
"Listen to yourself, Ton. Just listen
to yourself and hear how ridiculous you sound! Fleet men are no different from
any other Novaunian men. They marry, they marry young, and they abstain from
sexual pleasures until they marry. Whether you believe it or not, or whether
you like it or not, the dijauntu, or the joining of the spirit and mind, is
part of our marriages. It is ludicrous to suggest that a Novaunian man could
marry a Novaunian woman and lie to her about prior sexual experience!"
Ton bent his knees and rested his arms on
them. "Jovem Doshyr found it easy enough to lie to his wife, and Brys
Vundaun has been living a double life for years."
"We don't know that Brys Vundaun has
been living a double life with Paul and Deia's Aunt Eauva. The mistresses may
be one of King's lies, as Eauva believes."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. That still
doesn't explain Jovem Doshyr."
"Jovem Doshyr can lie about his
essence, an ability the rest of Novaun's men never believed existed, much less
have ever had."
"And just how do you know? Perhaps
Jovem Doshyr was merely the first person to use this ability openly."
Miaundea stood up and went to get a couple
lawn chairs. "You're dying to discover filth and hypocrisy in this people,
aren't you? You can't bear the thought that you're living on an uncorrupted
world."
"And just what does your perfect
culture do with flaws?" Ton called after her. "What of someone like
Paul, who is sexually experienced and wants to become a part of this society?
Does this mean he will never find a woman who will marry him?"
Miaundea returned with the lawn chairs.
"Your argument is an awfully weak one. You haven't the slightest idea
whether Paul is experienced or not. He's young, and I'm sure he was taught
differently by his mother. For all you know, he may be as pure as Menauran snow."
Ton
stood up and took a chair from Miaundea and sat down in it. "You forget.
He was seeing my sister on the Sovereign, the whore of whores."
"So?" Miaundea seated herself in
her own chair and crossed her legs. "No one you knew on the Sovereign would believe you and I aren't lovers."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
How could it not? Ton wondered.
Miaundea shrugged. "All that matters
to me is that we both feel comfortable with what goes on between us."
Ton wasn't sure he believed her. "You
want me to convince you that Paul had sex with Jacquae? All right. I'll
convince you. Paul, with his money and his looks and his aristocratic air and
his powerful uncle, was a conquest of conquests. He was always depressed,
half-drunk, and as unstable as I've ever seen anyone. He never did have his
wits about him, and he was completely incapable of putting up a fight of any
kind, even if he wanted to. If Jacquae wanted him, she had him, and believe me,
she wanted him. Paul himself came in one night, deliriously drunk, shouting
that she was an Eslavu whore."
Miaundea was profoundly disturbed.
"You believe me. Well, it's about
time. I ask you again. What does your perfect culture do with a flaw like
Paul?"
Compassion softened Miaundea's face.
"People make mistakes. God forgives those who change their actions and
their hearts, and I know that Paul is trying very hard to change."
Ton was so sick of her always bringing God
into everything. As far as he could tell, God didn't have much to do with real
life. "But even if Paul changes, a part of him will remember his
experience. Even if, as you say, God forgives him, it happened. What, does God
erase the memory too?"
Miaundea brushed a strand of hair out of
her face. "I don't know."
"And what if Earth-bred Paul never has
any intention of giving his mind to a woman, no matter how much he loves her.
What then? Does a Novaunian woman marry a man she knows she will never have
dijauntu with?"
"I don't think so, no," Miaundea
said musingly, her voice still touched with compassion. "But there will be
someone for Paul, I know it."
"Well I guess it's lucky for Paul
there's a place for him here on perfect Novaun." Ton thought of Bray, and
it occurred to him that Bray was more flawed than Paul because he didn't have
any intention of changing. "What about a man who is disowned by his
family? An idealistic man who has no intention whatsoever of changing his
beliefs or his actions to please his family. What kind of chance does he have
for obtaining your culture's perfect wedded intimacy?"
Miaundea tapped on the armrest of her
chair. "I don't understand the problem. People who can't live with this
culture leave long before their families would even think of disowning
them."
Ton flicked away an ant that had climbed on
his arm. "Perhaps this man only disagrees with half the culture. Let's say
he's from a devout pacifist family and joins the Fleet."
"You're being ridiculous. Children
born into pacifist families grow up to be pacifists. Even if they don't agree
completely with their families' ideals, they don't do something as defiant and
as disrespectful as joining the Fleet."
"We're talking about flaws, remember?
Contradictions to the ideal. And just to show you how much you know, an acquaintance
of mine is in exactly that situation. He's been disowned by his family because
he joined the Fleet."
Miaundea shook her head quickly, somewhat
defensively. "This isn't funny, Ton. There has never been a man from any
of Novaun's pacifist countries or planets who has joined the Fleet."
"You think I'm making this all
up?" Ton shook his head. "I don't pretend to know enough about your
culture to make up a contradiction this good."
Miaundea's pale eyebrows drew together into
a thoughtful frown. "A man from a pacifist family who joins the Fleet
would have a problem," she admitted.
Ton couldn't contain a smile of spiteful
satisfaction. He loved seeing her discomfort as she tried to defend her planet.
A person like Bray was a flaw that even she had to admit was impossible to
repair and embrace completely into this fastidious culture. "So what of
this disowned man, Ms. Anthropologist? Would an average Novaunian woman marry a
Fleet officer who's been disowned by one of the planet's most powerful families?"
"What family?"
"A very powerful one."
"It must not be as powerful as you say
if I've never learned anything about this poor disowned Fleet officer. His
predicament is, after all, the sort of thing that makes wonderful press."
Ton chuckled. "Perhaps you are not as
well-informed as you believe. And you never did answer my question. Would an
average Novaunian woman marry a Fleet officer who's been disowned by one of the
planet's most powerful families?"
Miaundea looked at him as if she wished she
could read his mind, then shook her head slowly. "I don't think most women
would go within a light year of a man in that situation."
"I didn't think so. You people aren't
so perfect and forgiving after all."
"Neither perfection nor forgiveness
have anything to do with it. I'm no judge, but the legal problems that would
arise at the time the two families attempted to negotiate a marriage contract
would, by themselves, be a nightmare. If the man's family agreed to participate
in the contract negotiations at all, it would only be because it was claiming
the right to financially support the grandchildren if the father died."
Miaundea's eyes were brilliant with
concentration as her mind worked quickly to examine all the possibilities.
"The wife could probably receive financial help from her own family if her
husband died, even though that would be unheard of under normal circumstances,
but undoubtedly the man's family would declare its customary right to support
the children."
"Which would mean they could force her
to raise them in the family's pacifist tradition."
"No, not quite. Under Novaunian law,
the father and his family are responsible for financial support and the mother
and her family are responsible for the primary caregiving and education of the
children. This prevents the type of tyranny you're describing. The father's
family could never 'force' the mother to raise the children a certain way, but
their strong presence in the children's lives would be a powerful influence
that the mother would have a difficult time overcoming. Even if nothing ever
happened to the father and he lived to be an old general, his children may
decide later that they don't want to give up their pacifist heritage the way
their father did, and that would bring about a storm of entirely new
problems."
"So what you're saying is that this
flaw is irreparable, that no woman in her right mind would marry into a
situation like that, and that even if she did, she would introduce a host of
new flaws when she had children. Then when those children had children, and the
children had children, eventually an ugly wound would become visible on your
perfect social system."
Miaundea gazed at Ton thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it wouldn't become an ugly wound at all. Perhaps it would instead
bring about a much-needed change. The Isolationists and the Fleet supporters
despise each other. Maybe a new generation with none of the old prejudices
would begin changing all of that."
"You're telling me that the all-perfect
Novaun needs to change?"
"Novaun may be uncorrupted, but no
Novaunian claims Novaun is perfect."
"And your laws against sex, should
those change?"
Miaundea shook her head.
"You really believe the law should
control something as personal as an individual's sex life? What's wrong with it
if it doesn't hurt anybody? It's plain tyranny, Miaundea!"
"Who is to define what 'hurt' means?
Two unmarried people who are intimate may argue that they aren't hurting
anybody, but are spiritual and psychological hurts any less important because
they are less noticeable? And what if a child is born? What happens to this
child that neither one of them wants? Who is going to give him all the
physical, emotional, spiritual care he'll need to grow into a healthy, socially
responsible adult? Is a government institution now going to assume
responsibility for the child? Now that would be a fine idea if you wanted to
raise a generation of immoral morons! The mother, merely by having the child,
will bear a good portion of the responsibility, but she will have a difficult
time without support from the father. Our laws are strict, yes, but they make
men and their families responsible for the children they father."
Ton shrugged. "You can have strict
laws to insure fathers take responsibility for their children without making
all of these stupid laws to regulate the act itself. A child doesn't have to
come from a sexual union."
"But who is going to make sure that
contraception is always used and that it is used properly? Is the government
now going to mandate birth control? Now what is tyranny? Improper sexual
conduct causes all kinds of devastating social problems. Our laws protect the
children, all of us against venereal diseases, mothers, and believe it or not,
the fathers and their families. Our family organizations work so effectively
precisely because our lineages remain clear. And if you want to talk about
people getting hurt, what about the other extreme? People who like their sex
really rough? Those two people, who say they should be allowed to do anything
they want as long as they aren't hurting anyone else, are doing what others
would consider assault, or maybe even rape. If you give free license to this
sort of behavior, then how do you protect those who really are assaulted or who
really are raped? There have to be limits. All planets recognize this, and they
all have varying degrees of limits."
"You don't think it's insulting to
suggest that the Novaunian people aren't intelligent enough to make responsible
social choices on their own? Without all of these restrictive laws?"
"Who do you think makes the laws?
Because of the literacy of our people and telepathic nature of our society,
which allows people in all twenty-one hundred of our worlds to vote very
quickly on any given issue, we have the purest democracy that has ever existed
anywhere in the galaxy. Now we could argue the issue of law, whether or not
laws are necessary at all, but it seems to me that any intelligent person
recognizes the fact that laws provide a needed order to society because they
hold people accountable for the things that they do. There will always be a
certain percentage of people in any society who will do what they choose
without regard to anyone but themselves. We all need to have something to
remind us of our social responsibilities. It's too easy to forget about them or
disregard them all together."
"You've spoken to me as an
anthropologist, now speak to me as a woman. If you really believe all of this
Novaunian dogma, then why have you had such a difficult time being, as you so
eloquently say, socially responsible?"
"I've conceded that social
responsibility doesn't always count for much, which is why there are laws. With
me physical intimacy isn't so much a social or legal issue as it is a personal
and moral issue."
"Which means you're waiting for your
perfect man and that you believe it's a sin."
"I told you; I'm not waiting for a man
who is perfect."
"But you do believe it's a sin."
Ton thought it incredible that such an intelligent person actually believed in
the concept of sin.
"No, I know it is a
sin. And I don't know why you're so concerned about the law. Even if I were
willing, the law would probably never be a problem, as long as I didn't
conceive. My father would be the problem."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of your
father."
"I have a feeling you're more afraid
of him than I am. He does, after all, have a considerable amount of control
over your life."
"So you are afraid of him, a
little."
Miaundea shook her head. "I've never
been afraid of my father." Her expression sobered. "But I don't want
to disappoint him."
"And he would be disappointed if you
committed the unpardonable sin of having sex with me."
"Very much." She stood up and
began pacing. "I don't know what he knows, Ton, but he and my mother
looked at me in the most worried way the day after the wedding. They were
nearly heartbroken."
Fear crept into Ton's heart. "What did
you tell them?"
"Nothing. Yet. I've been avoiding them
all week." Her eyes flitted from the willow branches, to Ton's hand, to
the gate that opened to the beach. "It's kind of funny, Ton. As much as I
don't want to disappoint my parents and the rest of my family, I'm more worried
about disappointing myself . . . and God. That's what I mean
when I say it's a moral issue."
Ton shook his head quickly, his heart a
knot of anguish and anxiety. "I can't believe this is happening."
"You should be very pleased with
yourself, Ton. The woman who never would almost did."
Ton stood up and grabbed her shoulders to
force her to face him. "What do you want from me?"
Miaundea's gaze dropped to avoid looking at
him. "I don't know."
"You want me to be your husband, is that
it?" Ton felt anger rising within him, but at the same time, curiosity.
Miaundea looked back up at him, her eyes
solemn and full of love. "I wouldn't be being honest if I didn't admit
that I wish you were a man I could marry."
Her self-righteousness hurt and infuriated
Ton. "So I'm not even good enough to marry!"
Miaundea's eyes flew wide. She shook her
head frantically. "No, Ton. It isn't that at all. It's just that I believe
deeply in the Eternal Triangle, and the man I marry must believe in it too. You
and I simply don't have the right things in common to build the sort of
marriage I want. It's nothing more or less than that."
Ton released Miaundea's shoulders and
extended his arm in the direction of the city. "Go ahead, Ms. Snob, go find
your perfect man! Go on! Go find yourself a Novaunian man who's good enough to
be your lover! Just don't expect to ever see this sinful man again!" He
turned and stormed across the yard.
Ton heard Miaundea run after him. She
overtook him as he came near the gate. She threw herself against the metal
bars, refusing to let him pass. He grabbed her arm to push her aside, but she
stood immobile, her eyes wild. "I'm not going to let you push me
away!"
Ton seized Miaundea by her tiny waist and
threw her to the ground. He could hear her whimper as he walked through the
gate and into the front yard. The gate opened and slammed again, and Miaundea
ran after him, saying in gasps, "You're a traitor and a liar and an
arrogant pervert! I know it and I love you anyway!"
She clutched his arm and he tried to twist
it away. She maintained her hold, squeezing his arm so savagely that her
fingernails pierced his skin. He strode toward the walk, dragging her along
with him.
"You're also brilliant and interesting
and committed to people and things you believe in. I admire you, and I like
being with you, and I can be your friend and companion without being your
lover."
Ton turned abruptly to face her. "No
you can't."
Miaundea released her hold on him. "Why
not?"
"Because I want you too much."
"You want me too much because you need
me so much." Miaundea's voice was soft. "I need you too, Ton. Not
your body, just you."
Ton turned and headed toward the
neighborhood landing platform, and this time, she didn't try to stop him.
Miaundea watched Ton leave, feeling more at
peace than she had anticipated, given the fact that she had, in a very real
way, rejected him. She felt so at peace, in fact, that she wished she had taken
this approach with Ton in the beginning. Her greatest reward, however, was that
the lust she had felt for him was gone. The incident the night of Teren and
Deia's wedding had cooled it considerably. This last encounter had killed
it--at least for the time being.
Perhaps it had been the honest expression
of her love that had released her, or perhaps the release had come as she had
strengthened her convictions by declaring them. Perhaps she had simply acquired
from Ton what she had wanted all along--an intimacy of communication and his
unconditional acceptance of her.
Miaundea decided to return to the reception
and spend the rest of the evening there with her family and friends. She was
also curious to learn the identity of the terrorist and why he had called her a
hellion. She hoped he would still be there.
She returned to Ranela's house and peered
through the white metal gate, scanning the clusters of people for the bizarre
stranger. She discovered him immediately and was shocked to see him conversing
with her father, Maurek Avenaunta, and Maurek's father. From the expression of
delight on her father's face and the enthusiasm with which he communicated, she
knew that they were either discussing the Fleet or interplanetary politics.
She watched them for several minutes. The
terrorist communicated with passion, his face running from one extreme
expression to the next, his arm gestures extravagant, intense, and
subconsciously corresponding with the movements of his face. The odd thing
about it was that the passion continued sustained and without affectation, as
if he were not communicating about something that excited him so much as if
this intense form of communication was the only way he ever communicated. She
expected him to pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Colonel Avenaunta communicated something,
then the terrorist communicated something, then Maurek laughed and leaned on
the terrorist's shoulder. Miaundea wanted to scream. Maurek wasn't an acquaintance
the terrorist had happened to make at the reception; he was the friend who had
brought him to the reception. That explained why he had called her a hellion,
and with such amusement too. She wanted to strangle them both.
Miaundea was enraged that she had become
the laughingstock of Maurek's friends, but she was even more enraged that the
terrorist so enthralled her that she couldn't turn and leave. This obsessive
man who dressed with such fastidious luxury, who, at the same time, spit in the
face of Novaunian culture with that beard, was the oddest friend imaginable for
the prim, reserved, conservative Maurek. She couldn't believe Maurek was brave
enough to be seen in public with a person like the terrorist, much less have
him as a friend, but the more she watched them, the more convinced she became
that they were not only friends, but very close friends who thought of each
other as brothers.
Miaundea would never learn his identity
now, but she was so repelled by the fact that he was Maurek's friend that she
didn't care. She couldn't go back to the reception, not with him there, with
his knowing eyes and amused little smile, so she decided to walk to the pier
for an early dinner.
Late that night after dinner and a long,
thoughtful walk on the beach, Miaundea returned to her parents' house, hoping
to find her mother and father there by themselves. Her mother had come to her
room that awful night in Launarda and had asked about her relationship with
Ton. Miaundea had promised to tell her everything after she'd had time to think
and talk to Ton. Now that she had done both, she couldn't put it off any
longer.
*
Ton wasn't sure why he had asked Bray and
Maurek to dinner, whether it was because he was fascinated with Bray and wanted
to learn more about him, whether he wanted to observe these two military men
who were his peers and yet uniquely Novaunian, or whether he just wanted a
relaxed, rowdy evening of male companionship.
The evening turned out to be a relaxed,
rowdy one of male companionship beyond Ton's expectations. He and Maurek told
war stories, Bray acted out war stories, they talked about the foreign ports
they had visited, they exchanged all of the Novaunian and Earthon racial jokes
they had heard, they laughed hysterically, and they made fun of their
commanding officers. Then they laughed some more. Even Maurek, who Ton knew
despised him, relaxed and dove into the fun.
After dinner, a huge platter of spiced
vegetables and cheese, and several pitchers of punch, Bray reached slyly under
his gem-covered half vest and pulled out a small bottle of red liquid. Maurek's
eyes flashed with eagerness.
Ton frowned. "What is it?"
Maurek pushed his glass forward to Bray to
be filled. "I did not think even you would dare this!"
"What is it?" Ton demanded.
"Nuayem punch, you idiot!" Maurek
said.
Ton grinned. "The aphrodisiac!"
"The undiluted aphrodisiac,"
Maurek said, his eyes wickedly wide. "That bottle is probably enough to
make two whole bowls of the pink punch."
Ton immediately pushed his glass to Bray to
get his sample of the forbidden drink.
Bray held the bottle against his jaw.
"It was quite easy to get, actually. The women were in the kitchen filling
the punch bowls. I communicated with them for a while, then asked them for a
cup of the pink nuayem punch. They refused of course, but in the meantime, I
slipped a bottle into my suit."
"The drink, Bray, the drink!"
Maurek commanded.
Bray looked over at Ton. "You have to
understand Maurek's eagerness. Wedding after wedding, anniversary party after
anniversary party, betrothal announcement after betrothal announcement, we have
been forced to sit through the most appalling discrimination ever known to the
human male--"
Ton laughed.
"--to be given a disgusting-looking
drink that might as well be dirty water and be forced to watch our brothers and
our cousins and our fathers and our grandfathers sip this gift of Novaun, all
the while watching us mockingly, taunting us, flaunting the fact that they will
be experiencing a pleasure that night so sublime that we will be unable to
duplicate it, even in our dreams!"
Bray filled each glass with nuayem punch,
dividing the contents of the bottle equally, and held his glass up for a toast.
"To all of the married men on Novaun . . . may their wives
have headaches tonight!" Then, amid spiteful shrieks of laughter, they
drank the nuayem punch.
Maurek was the first to slam his glass of
nuayem punch down on the table half drunk, pushing it toward the center of the
table. Bray slammed his empty glass down, nearly throwing it across the room.
They stared at each other in disappointment.
"It is not any different from the
white punch!" Maurek said.
"I swear, we will be toasting with
white punch at my wedding!"
Maurek looked at Bray sternly. "Do not
be an idiot! We cannot underestimate the psychological effect the pink punch
will have on our brides."
Bray looked at Maurek penetratingly, then
nodded in conspiratorial agreement.
Ton stared at the two. He suddenly knew
what kind of man Miaundea wanted, an amorous but chaste man, and for the first
time since his arrival on Novaun, he realized that every Novaunian man he knew
somehow managed to live this contradiction. The amorousness had been easy to
see, the chastity easy to ignore. Bray and Maurek, however, were making it
impossible for Ton to ignore it now.
Ton not only felt frustrated by this new
revelation, but jealous, because he knew that either one of these two men was
more likely to be Miaundea's lover than he was. Miaundea had always seen the
chastity in the men around her, but Ton had known all along that she had
somehow managed to ignore the amorousness, which was why she considered him so
attractive. He had used this weakness of hers to manipulate her, but in her
assurance that the majority of Novaunian men were chaste and that a chaste man
was what she wanted, she had untangled herself from the manipulation and had
defeated him.
Maurek waved his hand in front of Ton's
face. "What's wrong?"
Ton slapped Maurek's hand away.
"Neither one of you have ever had sex, have you? You're planning to wait
until you get married, aren't you?"
Maurek's expression was one of
astonishment, not so much that Ton had been so bold to ask the question, but
that Ton could have ever believed anything else. Bray said with easy-going
seriousness, "Yes, we are both virgins. Or at least I am a virgin. I
cannot speak for Maurek."
Ton shook his head slowly. "I can't
believe you would actually admit it."
Bray appeared amused. "I cannot
believe you would admit you aren't."
"How old are you?"
"We are both twenty-one," Maurek
answered.
"Which means you've been in space,
what, three years?"
"Three and a half," Bray said.
"And you've never had a wild,
passionate encounter with a beautiful foreign woman?"
Maurek shuddered and shook his head.
Bray's brow wrinkled a little, as if the
prospect puzzled him. "I do not know how a man could ever hope to find
passion with a woman he does not love or even know."
Ton threw his arms up in exasperation.
"The way you live isn't natural!"
Bray shook his head. "No, the way you live, or, I should say, the way you want to live, is not
natural."
"What are we?" Maurek said in
disgust. "Animals in heat? Or sons of God? Where is your dignity and
self-respect?"
At first, Ton was astounded. Then he wanted
to laugh. "You are really uptight. A prostitute would do you a universe of
good."
Maurek glared at Ton. Bray laughed gently.
"Maurek does not need a prostitute; he needs a wife, a problem we are
working on. Maurek cannot help but be uptight. He is in love with a woman who
does not know he exists."
Maurek looked at Bray oddly, then at Ton
baitingly. "At least the women on this planet find me attractive. Chances
are I will get married long before you find a woman who will relieve you from
your forced celibacy."
Ton's body tightened in rage. Maurek was
right and there was nothing he could do about it. "I guess when men spend
their most virile years in frustration they settle for the first prim, plain,
unexciting clone of a woman that shows any interest."
"Novaunian women prim, plain, and
unexciting?" Bray regarded Ton in amusement and perception. "And you
have never seen a Novaunian woman you thought was attractive." He shook
his head quickly as if the possibility were inconceivable, his lips pulling
into a mocking little smile. "Never."
Maurek said knowingly, "A woman who is
fully aware of her own beauty and power . . . what could be more
exciting than that?"
Bray shrugged. "I rather like a good
body myself."
Ton could do nothing but stare at the two
in disbelief. These men did not belong in any galaxy he knew. They didn't even
belong to the same universe. What was he doing on this insane planet?
"You would like Mautysian women,
Ton," Bray said suddenly. "They are artistic and beautiful, and they
are not afraid to celebrate passion."
"Celebrate
passion? . . . I like the sound of that."
Maurek took a drink from his glass of
water. "Do not get too excited. They are every bit as chaste as Shalaunian
women."
Bray's eyes flickered calculatingly.
"We can go tomorrow. We can spend the entire day watching women. Just you
and I. It will be refreshing."
Ton nodded at Maurek. "What about
him?"
"Maurek cannot come with us. He has to
report back to his ship in the morning."
Ton had a difficult time believing
Mautysian women were that extraordinary. "I don't know."
"You do not, by any chance, still have
your Star Force uniform, do you?"
"You are insane!" Maurek
exclaimed.
Ton understood immediately what Bray had in
mind. The prospect of terrorizing a haughty, Fleet-hating city of peace
fanatics in his Star Force uniform with a disowned Fleet officer was one too
tantalizing to resist. "I do, and I'd be more than happy to wear it in the
service of Novaunian Fleet. I'm not even scheduled for stand-by tomorrow."
Bray slid the empty nuayem punch bottle
under his half vest and stood up. "I will see you tomorrow then. Meet me
at the airbus depot downtown at the eighth hour. Thank you for dinner."
*
Maurek nodded to Ton in thanks and walked with Braysel out
of the restaurant. Once they were standing on the walk in the warm night air,
he communicated, You're really
asking for trouble, Bray. It'll be nothing more than a prank to you and Ton,
but it'll make a lot of people angry.
A
lot of people have made me angry lately.
So you're going to punish them by
assaulting everything they hold sacred.
They've assaulted everything I hold sacred
all my life. Besides. I had to come up with some sort of incentive to get Ton
to come with me.
Braysel slapped Maurek on the back. You
see, while Ton is in Mautysia with me, you will be communicating with Miaundea.
Maurek turned toward Braysel, stunned.
The two slid into a taxi. It's Eighth Day tomorrow, so she won't be going
to work. She always ignores you when you try to communicate with her? Fine. You
let yourself into her apartment early tomorrow morning, slip into her bedroom,
and wait there for her to wake up.
I couldn't do that!
Why
not? You want her attention, don't you? She won't move a millimeter off her bed
wearing only a nightgown until you leave. You will have her complete attention,
and she will have complete proof that you are not a prude. You are not going to
impress this girl by being a jellyfish.
Maurek sagged his shoulders. It won't work.
I could communicate with her all day
of how I feel and she wouldn't believe me. Miaundea doesn't believe anything
she doesn't want to believe.
Of course she'll believe you, because
you'll sit there in her room until she does. Maurek, she already hates you. You
have nothing to lose!
Nothing
but my pride!
A lot of good your pride is doing you!
Which do you want? Your pride or Miaundea? Braysel sighed. You hurt her, Maurek. You hurt her intensely. If you ever want to have a
chance with her, you're going to have to forget your pride and beg her to
forgive you.
And what if she wasn't hurt? I'll look like
a total fool!
Think back, Maurek. Think back to the time
before you asked her to the dance. How did she feel about you then? How did you
think she felt?
I always thought she liked me.
Of
course you did, or you wouldn't have asked her to the dance at all.
Maurek gazed, transfixed, through the front of the aircar at
the reflection of the city lights on the bay. Her eyes would light up whenever we saw each other, as if she were
excited to see me. Sometimes I would touch her hand or she would touch mine. We
never communicated in thoughts. I'm not sure why. Maybe I was scared, or maybe
I just didn't want to take the chance that I would destroy the wonderful thing
we had.
She liked you, and she liked you a lot. The
dress she wore that night. Do you have any idea where she got it?
Maurek shrugged. How would I know that? Where do women get
dresses? My mother gets hers from different shops all over the city.
Do you know what I learned today about
Miaundea? It was by accident, when I was communicating with Deia. She designs
and sews clothes. She probably designed that dress just for the dance and just
to wear for you. Girls do that. When they're planning to go on an engagement,
or to a party, they shop for weeks, just to find the right dress. Only Miaundea
didn't shop, she created.
Maurek frowned.
What exactly did Deia say?
Apparently Miaundea is designing a wardrobe
for Paul Doshyr. He thinks Menauran and Tavonean styles are bland and boring.
Imagine that.
"Oh no . . ." Maurek moaned.
Deia
liked my suit and thought Paul would too. That's how the conversation began.
What
have I done?
Maurek looked away for at least a minute. Eventually he shook his head. What could I have done? Even if I had known, I
couldn't have taken her looking the way she did. She was so
beautiful . . . She was just too
beautiful.
Braysel rested his hand on Maurek's shoulder with a squeeze.
Tomorrow, tell her that.
The taxi stopped in Maurek's neighborhood.
Braysel telepathically authorized his bank to overpay for the ride and received
ten gold coins from the change machine. You know what your problem is, Maurek? You don't have any sisters.
Maurek followed Braysel out of the taxi and
walked with him to Ranela's house. And
I should take advice from you, the man who has never in his life been able to
make more than one engagement with the same woman.
Braysel stroked his chin. Novaunian women just don't appreciate a good beard.
Maurek laughed mildly, in understanding. Braysel couldn't
help but feel depressed. Why couldn't he have been born in Maurek's situation?
Maurek was handsome, he had a supportive family, and he had the Fleet. He was
successful, and he was safe. Women couldn't help but be attracted to him.
Braysel knew that he, on the other hand, was considered a rebel and an outcast
by all the women he knew, a dangerous prospect for marriage, and that he lacked
the necessary good looks to compensate for that dangerousness. No woman he had
met yet had dared get close enough to begin to like him. He believed that if he
had Maurek's looks they would come a little closer.
He thought of Trastanya, the dark-haired,
willowy woman he had watched for months. Trastanya was from Nytaulel in the
Union and had been working at the Fleet base on Horbun, in the Gudynean
Federation, as a physicist. He had finally gained the courage to ask her to
dance at one of the parties at the base, thinking a dance was a simple, safe
way of getting to know her a little better, and she had politely refused him.
He could have understood refusing an engagement--he had rarely had a woman in
whom he was interested accept an engagement--but refusing a dance was
mortifying. He had not attended a dance or any other kind of party or outing
since.
Braysel yearned to possess Maurek's
safeness, yet he knew that Maurek deplored his own safeness. Maurek could have
any woman he wanted except the one he wanted, and he wanted her because she
made him feel unsafe in living his moral standards. Maurek's obsession with
Miaundea had never been innocent. Braysel's obsession with the Fleet had never
been understandable. Braysel knew that, in some strange way, he and Maurek
provided each other with a needed balance.
Has
there been anyone at all? Maurek asked.
Braysel set the empty bottle next to
Ranela's front door with the stack of gold coins. What do you think?
I
think that when you find the right woman, none of this will matter.
Braysel turned to Maurek abruptly as they
stepped off the porch. How can it
not matter?
If she loves you and believes what you're
doing is right, how can it matter?
It would matter to me. I'm not sure I could ask a woman I love to live my nightmare of a life.
You don't think there is one woman in this
entire Union who is capable of perceiving the universe as you perceive it? Who
is capable of standing up to her family the way you stood up to yours? Or who
is capable of standing up to your family? To believe otherwise is arrogance,
Bray.
Braysel stared wistfully at the stars as
they walked in the direction of Maurek's home. Arrogance has nothing to do with it. I've never been interested in a
woman I didn't think was capable of all of those things. I think the majority
of Novaunian woman are completely capable of living the kind of life I live.
They don't have the desire, and why should they? They have some twenty-one
hundred worlds of men to choose from.
It only takes one, Bray.
Why
should any of them want to marry a man who has no family to provide financial
security? Who has no family with a taurnen to give the necessary ordinances to
her children? Who will give her children no heritage, no extended family, no
grandparents, just a very angry, very powerful family organization that she
will be forced to fight her whole life? How could I even ask it of someone? It
would be inexcusably selfish. Braysel shook his head. It isn't my destiny to get married, Maurek.
Maurek laughed. That's
the most ridiculous thing I've ever known you to communicate! Your intentions
are all very noble and self-sacrificing, but Bray, you're very passionate, and
you've also been known to be reckless. When the right woman comes along, you
won't be able to stop yourself.
Reckless? Me? I'm offended, Maurek! They arrived at Maurek's house
and sat down on the front porch.
Maurek grinned, telepathically turning off the porch lights.
What do you call buying an expensive
necklace for your mother and then three days later having to borrow fifty gold
coins from Taurgren and me for new uniforms? What do you call missing the
shuttle from Nestenal and being stranded there for four days, just so you could
play another game of cards?
So? That card game was only supposed to
take thirty minutes. How could I have known it would take over an hour? That
Nestenalian was a beast! I couldn't let him win!
And what do you call trying to bribe
Captain Suksval for an extra three days of leave and almost getting put on
probation?
I convinced him I was joking!
You weren't joking!
I convinced him, didn't I?
And what do you call this plan to go to
Mautysia in your uniform with a man from an enemy planet wearing an enemy
uniform?
Braysel threw his arms into the air. All right. I won't be reckless. I won't go to
Mautysia with Ton tomorrow, and Ton can spend the day here in Shalaun with
Miaundea.
Take
Ton to Mautysia, tell him you have to go to the bathroom, then sneak away and
leave him there by himself. Maybe they'll throw him into the Gulf! Braysel laughed.
At that moment, Miaundea stepped lightly
out of her parents' home, which was located across the walk and to the right.
The lights from the house surrounded her with a glow. She carried herself with
grace and dignity, her face confident but tired, her entire aspect one of
relief, touched ever so slightly with tension, as if she were only a few meters
away from finishing first in a difficult marathon race.
Braysel couldn't imagine anything more
natural than for her to spot Maurek and him on the front porch, greet them, and
then hurry across the walk and communicate with them for a while. Then he and
Maurek would walk her to the landing platform, and she would take a taxi back
to her apartment, animated and relaxed.
Miaundea didn't notice Braysel and Maurek
sitting on the dark front porch. She didn't even look in their direction. She
walked quickly in the direction of the landing platform, still tense, still
exhausted. Braysel suddenly felt empty, as if something that was supposed to be
happening wasn't happening.
"She's so
beautiful . . ." Maurek breathed.
"Yes, she is," Braysel murmured.
*
Ton sat in the restaurant, depressed to see Braysel and
Maurek leave, and, at the same time, relieved. The evening had been interesting,
even enjoyable, but very odd. He paid the bill, left the restaurant, and walked
back to his apartment, lonely for Miaundea, yet not really wanting to see her.
The hour was late, and he went straight to
bed. He dreamed that he was sitting with Miaundea under the huge willow tree in
her parents' backyard, communicating much in the same way they had that
afternoon, only the hour was much later. Stars shone through the branches of
the trees and the tide beat high and intense on the beach just beyond the white
metal fence that surrounded the yard.
They communicated for hours. He told her
all about Adrian and his life in Baltimore as a child and about his two months
as a plant on the Sovereign of the
Stars. She laughed
gently and told him that she had known all along, her eyes alive with the same
intensity and trust that had been there that afternoon.
They kissed, over and over, falling
together into the grass. Miaundea wanted him desperately and was ready, but she
was worried that someone in her family would discover them there together. They
decided to go to his apartment.
Once at his apartment, their lovemaking
continued, beautiful and unrestrained. Both marveled in the newness of the
sensations they felt, her in surrendering her virginity, he in surrendering his
emotions. They reveled in their newfound intimacy for hours into the night,
finally falling into an exhausted sleep in each other's arms.
He awoke the next morning, content and
bursting with affection for his beautiful new lover, sunshine pouring into his
window. He was immediately horrified to hear Miaundea sobbing. She was sitting
on the bed next to him, hunched over her knees and shaking, the sheet pulled
tightly around her body.
He reached to stroke her arm. "What's
the matter, Miaundea?"
She recoiled from his touch, shuddering.
Seconds later, she grabbed the sheet away from him and wrapped it completely
around her body, gathered up her clothes, and ran into the bath lounge,
refusing to look at him. Ton sat up and watched the door to the bath lounge in
shock.
She emerged minutes later with disheveled
hair, a tearstained face, and eyes full of resentment and shame. "I don't
ever want to see you again." Devastated, Ton watched her hurry out of the
bedroom.
He
awoke at that moment trembling, his bed wet with perspiration and his heart
ripped apart with guilt and desolation. He had never seen so much hate and
disgust. How could he have destroyed her beautiful, trusting innocence? What
had he done?
He reached to the other side of the bed,
fully expecting to find Miaundea there. He didn't, and the relief he felt was
tremendous. Everything in the nightmare had been so real, so meticulously
detailed, down to the soft whiteness of her skin and the smell of her hair. How
could it not have happened?
Then he wondered how she could have
rejected him like that after a night of such perfect passion, but even as he
wondered, he felt sick to realize that it would really happen that way. She
believed deeply that being intimate with a man who was not her husband was
immoral, and for the first time in the months Ton had known her, he knew that
no intensity of desire or height of erotic pleasure could ever erase that moral
conviction.
But why? Sex wasn't immoral. How could
something so pleasurable be immoral? How could she have such a strong
conviction for a moral code that was wrong? How could she feel such devotion
for a husband who, at this time in her life, was no more than a shadow, a man
without a personality, feelings, or even a name?
As much as she baffled him, as much as she
aroused him, Ton knew that her moral code mattered to him because it mattered
to her. Living with her loving him as a friend but not as a lover would be
difficult. Living with her resenting him as the man who destroyed her virtue
and her dreams would be unbearable. Ton didn't think he could touch her now if
he tried.
Then he remembered the nuayem punch. What
was that stuff, anyway?
By the time the remaining guests had left
the reception, Teren, Deia, and the remaining members of Teren's family were
languishing in patio chairs, intoxicated with exhaustion.
Teren had enjoyed the evening, but he was
glad it was over. He and Deia had arrived in Shalaun late the night before, but
since their bodies were still in sync with Menauran time, they had not desired
sleep. He had lain most of the night on the couch, holding Deia as she had
communicated in agitation with Paul.
Before their marriage, Deia's intense need
for Paul had annoyed Teren. Now, knowing Deia far better, he accepted it, but
he still couldn't help but be a little jealous. Paul and Deia's empathy for
each other was complex, gained through years of experiencing life together. As
much as Deia loved Teren, she still felt her deepest family bond with Paul and
would always be able to work out certain difficulties arising from family
issues more effectively with him.
Teren had drifted to sleep before Deia had
ended her communication with Paul and had awakened with the sun to find Deia
busy organizing the clutter in their home. The remainder of the day had been
spent preparing for the reception, and Deia had occupied herself so completely
that she hadn't had time to be depressed. Assuming a festive air for the
reception, however, had been difficult for her, and Teren longed to take her
home.
A joke and a giddy eruption of laughter
later, Rayel clapped his hands and smirked. Guests have gone home, ladies. Time for you to clean up.
Ketina groaned and threw her slipper at him. Jaun, Ketina's
husband, appeared from the house, drinking concentrated red nuayem punch
straight from the bottle.
Go
put that away, Jaun! Ketina
communicated.
Jaun took another swallow. I thought that's what I was doing. Everyone laughed but Ketina.
It's all right, Ranela assured. He can have what he wants.
At ten gold coins a bottle? You're short a
bottle as it is! We started with eight bottles, and now there are only two.
Lauria was surprised. We certainly didn't go through twelve bowls of punch. Go put it away,
Jaun.
Jaun shrugged, then fastened the lid and
tossed the bottle to Teren.
To the groom! Kevan communicated as he and Alysia stood to leave.
Teren held up the bottle and nodded his satisfaction.
Where're
you going, you jellyfish? Don, Ranela's husband, demanded of Kevan. We've still got work to do.
Kevan chuckled. You've got work to do.
Leave him alone, Don, Ranela communicated. It can wait until tomorrow. Then with a knowing look at
Kevan, she added, You will come back tomorrow--morning.
Kevan laughed, pretending to assent, and he
and Alysia hurried to their waiting taxi.
Teren was glad Ranela wanted to wait until
the next day to clean up and haul away the portable tables and chairs. He
stroked Deia's arm. Are you ready to
go?
Deia sat limply in the patio chair, her
dark curls strewn softly on her shoulders, her eyes glassy and staring at the
stars, and her veil a pale haze in her lap. She turned her head slightly and
nodded her relief. Teren rested his hand on hers and squeezed it, then stood up
and gently pulled her up with him. He kissed her cheek. Go change, and I'll get everything into the taxi. Deia nodded and walked into
the house.
Teren
telepathically hailed a taxi and enlisted the help of his brothers-in-law in
sending the gifts he and Deia had received that night to the landing platform
in the transport pod and then loading them into the taxi. He met Deia on the
patio again after she had changed, and they immediately communicated their
appreciation to those who remained and bade them good-night.
Teren's spirit merged with Deia's as they
slipped their arms around each other and walked in the direction of the landing
platform. He felt immediately that Deia's emotions were in chaos. She didn't
communicate in formulated thoughts, but Teren understood. She was excited about
their new marriage, but at the same time, she was angry about the part Brys and
Eauva had played in the nightmare her mother had lived on Earth. More than
anything, she was lonely for Paul and her mother, especially her mother.
Feeling Deia's grief caused Teren to miss
his own parents more than ever, and he couldn't help but be a little depressed
himself. He thought of Bray Nalaurev, and he wondered how Bray could bear
living without a family. Even the Fleet wasn't that important.
Deia startled him with a thought. You disapprove of Bray?
I don't know. I guess I do disapprove, a
little. Maybe it's just that I don't understand. Teren thought it odd that he was experiencing such
conflicting feelings. Finally a man from a pacifist country, a Mautysian at
that, had decided to do his duty and join the Fleet. It was an act that any
true Fleet supporter could not help but applaud. At the same time, however, a
man had been disowned by his family. What kind of man could ever put his desire
to join the Fleet above remaining part of his family? How could that ever be a
good thing?
Perhaps
he didn't know he would be disowned, Deia communicated as they slid into the taxi.
Then
what's stopping him from quitting the Fleet now and going home?
Nothing,
I guess. His joining the Fleet was a good thing . . . wasn't it?
I
honestly don't know.
Teren and Deia rode home in silence. They
unloaded the taxi and made several trips to the house, the homes in their
neighborhood not having personal transport pod booths. Once they finished
bringing all of the gifts into the house and sent the taxi back to its origination
tower, they wearily sat down on the used white velvet couch.
Deia leaned her head back and gazed up at
the dome ceiling and the floral mural Alysia had painted there. The painting
was Earthon in style, emanating an aura of haunting romance, and the colors
were cool and luxurious, blending perfectly with all of the thick crimson
carpets and colorful silk pillows Deia had purchased in Talavaura. Alysia did such a beautiful job. I love this
house.
It's small, and it's so dreadfully old.
It's large enough, and it's so elegant. Deia shifted and slipped her
arms around Teren, pressing close, her lips clinging to his in savoring
caresses. Her hand moved down his arm to his hand, and she withdrew slightly,
telepathically turning off the lights and drawing him up with her, leading him
slowly to the piano, her spirit permeating his.
Teren walked with her, simmering with
anticipation. She had never played for him in this way before, not at this
level of intimacy. Deia lifted the top of the piano and seated herself at the
keyboard in front of the huge bay window, her figure shadowy against the
brilliant night sky. Teren lowered himself to the floor and crawled under the
piano. He lay on his back and waited for her to begin playing, seeing the piano
with her eyes and feeling the smoothness of the keys under her fingers.
Their thoughts were one, and he knew what
piece she would play before she began playing--Beethoven's
"Pathetique" Sonata. Her fingers struck the keyboard with the first
dissonant chords of the sonata; Teren gasped, as if stabbed. She continued, the
music languishing, then racing; clashing, then seething.
Teren's mind flowed into hers, following a
tangled string of memories. He remembered incidents as if he had been there
himself, being hugged by her mother, arguing with Paul, practicing Beethoven's
"Appassionata" sonata until her body ached and her head hurt and
still not getting it right, performing "Pathetique" in London to an
energetic audience, despairing when she and Paul had been drafted.
Teren suddenly felt a strong mental shove,
and he immediately withdrew from Deia's mind. You're making me think too much! I can't play if I have to think! Teren grinned and allowed
their thoughts to be carried away by their intertwined emotions. He could feel
the stress in her arms as her fingers ran vigorously up and down the keyboard,
the tightness in her leg as it worked the foot pedal, the adrenalin swelling
through her body, the release of her tension as she abandoned herself to the
music. She pounded the final dramatic measures of the first movement, leaving
Teren breathless.
She proceeded gravely into the melancholy
second movement, fading into sad nothingness, then pressed restlessly through
the final movement, ending in a rush. She paused, then plunged into the
mournful, dreamy first movement of Beethoven's "Moonlight" Sonata.
Teren lay very still, smothered by her grief, and finally, sorrowful notes
trudged to the last dusky chords.
The second movement, normally light and
cheerful, gave him no relief. Deia charged through it, playing it at a frenetic
speed, the phrases jerking spasmodically from one to another. Deia's technique
was perfect, which made the piece all the more loathsome. Within two minutes,
the second movement ended, and the storm began.
Deia's fingers moved at an astounding
speed, crashing up and down the keyboard in flawless unrestraint and naked
rage. The music vibrated through Teren's body as it vibrated through the piano
and floor. His heart throbbed feverishly with Deia's, perspiration dripping
down his face as it dripped down hers. He grasped at the carpet, thrilled and
at the same time tortured. Finally, when he thought he could bear it no more,
the sonata ended, and with the silence came release.
The ache in Deia's chest subsided as the
pace of her breathing slowed. She rested for a minute, then began playing
Chopin's Waltz in A Minor. The piece was wistful and tranquil, and Deia played
it lovingly. She gently played the final longing notes, then slipped to the
floor and crawled under the piano to be with Teren.
She leaned over Teren, her hair sliding off
her shoulder and brushing his cheek on its way to the floor, the Chopin waltz
still whirling between their spirits. She tenderly stroked his face. Kind of a miserable way to start a marriage.
Teren reverently caressed her lips with his finger. At least we have a marriage.
Braysel collapsed late that night on a mat
on the floor next to Maurek's bed. He had attempted to outwit Maurek into
giving up his bed, but Maurek knew his psychological tricks too well and
wouldn't be outmaneuvered.
Braysel slept that night in an unyielding
state of arousal. His body burned for a woman he couldn't quite discern. His
lips sought for the lips of a woman he couldn't quite feel. His hands reached
to caress skin that wasn't quite there. He reached further and further, trying
to cling to her, but the more he tried to touch her, the more elusive she
became.
He awoke early the next morning, exhausted
and miserable. He wished he had never even known of that poison nuayem punch.
Maurek had just showered and was sitting on
the edge of his bed in his underwear, his elbows on his knees and his head in
his hands, his slightly curly black hair wet and tousled.
Braysel sat up. Why aren't you dressed yet? The sooner you get
over there, the more likely you are to catch her before she wakes up.
Maurek moaned and shook his head. I can't do it. I can't go there and see her
half-naked in her bedroom. I can't.
Braysel didn't have to be a genius to figure out the woman
and the setting of Maurek's erotic nightmares. Hold on to your hormones, Maurek. First of all, she won't be half-naked,
just wearing a tiny bit less than normal. Second of all, you aren't a rapist.
Third of all, even if you did try and touch her, she wouldn't let you. If you
don't go and communicate with her today, I'll communicate with her tonight when
I get back in town and describe to her, in very vivid detail, the passionate
dreams you had about her last night.
Maurek slumped his shoulders even more and laughed
nervously. You're determined to make
me go through with this, aren't you?
If you don't do it today, when will you do
it?
Maurek straightened and slapped
his hands on his thighs. You're
right. If I don't do it now, I never will.
*
Maurek walked through the quiet house, relieved his parents
weren't awake. He didn't feel like giving any explanations, and he didn't want
to be teased and told, Well it's
about time! Not that he would have given them the real reason for his
early excursion anyway.
He stepped out of the house into the dawn.
The air was damp, the pale, starlit sky was clear, and the horizon glowed. It
would be a beautiful day, and Maurek would have been pleased had he not had the
urge to vomit. He telepathically hailed a taxi and took it downtown to
Miaundea's apartment complex. He had known where she lived since her return
Shalaun over half a year before. He walked as if in a dream down the hall to
her apartment and opened the door as quietly as he could.
Maurek stepped into the apartment and
glanced around the living-dining area, marveling at the beauty he saw there.
Gripping the crystal dining room table for strength, he shoved himself toward
the back hall and what he assumed was her bedroom. The door to her bedroom was
partially opened. He peered in and saw her lying on her stomach under a
gold-stitched white satin bedspread, her hair strewn over her arms and
shoulders, bare except for narrow straps of pink satin. Maurek stopped there
for a minute, unable to breathe for the excitement.
He walked softly into the room and sat down
in the gold velvet chair by her bed. He watched her in awe, revelling in every
flutter of her eyelashes, every movement of her fingers, every quiver of her
soft pink lips. He sat gazing at her for nearly an hour, rehearsing over and
over what he would communicate. Finally, after the sun had risen enough to pour
into her window, she turned slightly. Maurek's heart throbbed in anticipation
and fear. He had no business being in her bedroom. What in the universe was he
doing?
She stretched and yawned and opened her
eyes. She caught a glimpse of Maurek sitting in the chair in her room and
frowned. Then her eyes flew open in shock and outrage. She sat up quickly,
pulling her bedspread in panic to her neck. "What are you doing
here?"
Maurek could feel himself blush. He thought
he would rather crawl under her bed than face her. The muscles in his body
tightened, and he forced himself to reply, I've been wanting to communicate with you for months, but you never give
me a chance. I thought this way I would have your complete attention.
Miaundea glared at him. The last time I communicated with you, you made a sarcastic comment about
my dress. She
pulled an arm out from under the fluffy bedspread and pointed to the door. Get out of my home, Minon Avenaunta, she communicated with a
sardonic emphasis on "Minon."
Maurek's hands clenched the armrests of the
chair. The last time we
communicated, you treated me with intolerable derision, and without a shred of
provocation.
Miaundea's eyes narrowed. Not a shred of provocation? You sure have a lot
of nerve! Trespassing in my home and attempting to justify your insulting
behavior!
"Get out!"
I
have, in the past, treated you in a very insulting way. I have never tried to
justify it to anyone, Miaundea. I was wrong all those times for telling my
friends that you looked like a hussy the night of the dance, and I'm sorry. Maurek stopped for a moment
and watched her face. She was still angry, but her eyes were puzzled. The last time I saw you, though, I was trying to
give you a compliment. You took it the wrong way.
Miaundea scowled at him. And you expect me to believe you. You really expect me to believe you. What kind of deal do you have with your friends, Maurek? What? How much are they going to pay you for the details of the "huss